#i wanted to practice painting and next thing I knew I was furiously emptying ever color on my palette like I always do for ahsoka lmao

[rainglazedpaint]

After Mandalore

[flower-cage]

Hold Back

Tom Holland x Reader | smut & fluff (18+ only)

Summary: Tom’s shooting a movie and you can’t stop bruising him during sex.

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, swearing, daddy kink, slight slut shaming, unprotected sex, light spanking, light choking.

A/N: My first writing received a lot more notes than I ever expected, so I felt motivated to write another smutty oneshot. Enjoy.

There were few things you could perceive beyond the maddening pleasure you got from Tom plunging himself in and out of your throbbing core: the thumping of the headboard against the wall, his dirty whispers of want against the shell of your ear, your shared wetness dripping down your thighs. Beyond that, your mind was hazy with arousal only, like it always was when you had him inside you.

You had been at it for such a long time, it had to have been at least forty minutes since he had finally entered you. He was pounding deep into you with long, hard thrusts that shook the bed and took your breath away. There was nothing you loved more than having Tom inside you, chasing your orgasms with desperation. 

When he hiked up one of your legs on his shoulder and angled himself to thrust even faster into your sweet, sweet spot, you couldn’t help but throw your head back and moan. Loudly.

“Yeah, baby?” Tom breathed out against your jaw, where he was sucking wet kisses into your skin. “Feeling good?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned at Tom’s enticing words. His rhythm never faltering, moving harshly and desperately into you.

“And you’re gonna come for Daddy like the good little slut you are?” Tom asked gruffly from behind gritted teeth. “You gonna wet my cock, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Your eyes rolled back as every single one of Tom’s thrusts had the thick head of his cock plunging right up against your most pleasurable spot. Relentlessly. 

“Oh, Daddy, yes!” You positively yelled as your pleasure took over you forcefully. You threw your head back again and sank your nails into the flesh of your boyfriend’s back, dragging them down his shoulder blades as you convulsed in absolute pleasure around his thick length. Still, he plunged into you.

“Fuck,” he groaned and slammed a fist against the mattress next to your head at the burning sensation on his back muscles. After two more rough thrusts, he came inside you, riding out your orgasms in a few final, sloppy strokes. He dropped some of his weight on you, trying to catch his breath on your bare shoulder. You pulled him by his messy curls to meet your lips in a lazy make-out, your tongues sliding against each other without purpose.

“Well, good morning, darling,” Tom murmured against your lips, smiling. You chuckled and scratched his head, played with his hair while giving his warm lips some more little kisses.

“Does it count as morning if the sun hasn’t come up yet?” You looked and pouted at the window, where the moonlight still seeped in through the sheer white curtains.

“You’re the one who said you wanted to wake up with me.” 

He had to be up most days at four in the morning so he could be at the studio by five, go to makeup, dressing, and then warm up all before seven, when filming started. Most days, he would stay until at least seven at night, other days he’d be back in the afternoon or wouldn’t be back until eleven. So you wanted to make sure you could spend some time with him in the morning, have sex and breakfast and send him off to work happy and energized.

“I know,” you said and turned to look into his sleepy brown eyes again, “And it’s totally worth it.”

He grinned at you lovingly and pecked your lips one last time before dropping himself onto the mattress beside you.

“Damn,” he winced. “You did quite a number on my back, darling,” he said, turning over and propping himself on his elbows to avoid the contact. You blushed in embarrassment at his words. It hadn’t happened voluntarily. You had been completely lost in pleasure and it just… happened.

“I’m sorry…” You whispered.

“It’s fine,” he grinned at you. “It turns me on.” He winked at you cheekily and you bit down a wide smile trying to break through your lips. One more of those and you would jump at him for round two.

“So,” he started and brushed back some of the hair falling on your face, “do you want to join me in the shower or go back to sleep, my darling?”

Instead of answering, you wrapped your limbs around him. He grinned and supported your thighs at his waist when he rose from the bed, heading toward the bathroom. Round two it is.

—

“There’s nowhere to go. And there’s no way they won’t catch us in the next five minutes if we just stand here!”

“There’s just one thing left to try.” Tom gasped out, both of them trying to regain their breaths. He looked at the river determinedly and tugged his heavy sweatshirt off his body, then his shoes. He swung his arms back and stepped back, preparing to jump.

“Cut!” Tom heard the director’s callout. He looked back at the crew, confused. He wondered if he had said his line wrong.

“Can we get someone from makeup over here?” The director called again, chuckling. In fact, the entire crew was either smiling or chuckling.

“What’s going on?” Tom asked, turning to face the director fully with a frown.

“Woah!” His co-star exclaimed suddenly, so he faced him instead. “Did you have a good night, Holland?”

Tom just stared at him confusedly and tilted his head to the side.

“Your back?”

“My… back?” Tom repeated slowly. What about my back? He reached behind him to feel for whatever it was that had stopped production and winced. Oh. His eyebrows shot up and he blushed furiously.

“I’m so sorry!” He gasped at the director, who just waved him off, laughing.

“It’s fine,” he said, “just take it easy from now on.”

Tom nodded, still blushing, and tried to not flinch away as a makeup artist painted over claw marks that were undoubtedly bright red down the expanse of his back.

—

“Tommy!” You yelped as he shoved his thick length within the wet, sensitive lips between your thighs. And then you gasped as a hand came down on your bare skin.

“Try that again,” he practically growled in your ear.

“Daddy…” You whined, burying your fingers in his hair and your face in the crook of his neck.

“Good girl,” he purred and started thrusting into you slowly. You gasped and melted into him, surrendering yourself to the delicious strokes against your inner walls. Your skin lit on fire and goosebumps emerged all over its surface every time Tom pulled back from your sweet spot.

He had come home earlier that day. The sun was still out and he wasted no time taking your hand in his and leading you out to the pool for a swim. A swim which turned into a hot makeout in the jacuzzi as the weather got chilly with sundown, and then into steamy, desperate sex against the wall in the living room. Your bodies still dripping, still hot from arousal and from the hot tub, wet hair sticking everywhere on your face and chest.

Tom had you propped up against the wall with a grip on the crook of your knee, leg raised high up and pushed back. He thrust into you steadily, strong movements of his hips hiking you up each time and gradually driving you to the edge. Your toes barely grazed the marble floor as he supported you on his cock alone, his tip slamming against that spot inside you that sent you into overdrive again and again and again.

“Such a perfect pussy, baby,” he groaned against your lips in between passionate kisses. “You took me so well in the morning I kept thinking about it all day.” You whined at his words as they brought you that much closer to unraveling for him.

“And now you’re taking it again. So. Good.” He punctuated his words with sharp thrusts and your eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open in a string of loud moans, nails starting to sink into his shoulders.

“Wait, baby,” he said, panting in exertion and not daring to lose the rhythm he had built up.

He knew you were close. And he knew those claws were about to sear into his skin again any time now. He hooked your leg over his arm, ripped both your hands off his back, and slammed them against the wall above your head. The shift in position drove him deeper into you and you both moaned, his pounding not faltering for a single second, his pelvis rutting against your clit and adding to your pleasure with every drag. 

He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth and thrust in once, and then one more time before you came together, moaning and whining against each other’s tongues. You thrashed in his hold as your pleasure coursed through you in long, electrifying waves. His grip on you tightening just short of painful as he emptied himself inside you, deep into your sensitive cunt.

“God, I love you,” Tom panted in awe and kissed you passionately, messily. He slipped out of you and slowly lowered your leg, mindful of the stress the position exerted on your hip. He rubbed it lovingly, then let go of your wrists and rubbed those too.

“I thought you liked it when I scratched your back?” You pouted at him when he released your lips.

“I love it,” he said in between raggedy breaths, “but today I kinda got called out at work for it.”

Your chin dropped. Your face flushed in dreadful embarrassment. You didn’t know which was worse: that you had interfered with his work or that everyone he worked with knew he had absolutely railed you that morning.

“Oh, my God,” you gasped, “Tom, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I messed up your job!”

“No, no,” he shook his head, “Hey, everything’s alright, Y/N. You didn’t mess up anything. It’s my fault for not letting you know sooner. Okay?”

You nodded sheepishly and he pulled you off the wall by your hand and guided you to your shared bedroom. Once there, you wiped away the mess between your legs and sat at the edge of your bed.

“I honestly don’t know how I’m going to hold myself back.” You mumbled, half hoping he wouldn’t hear you. But he did.

“What?” He chuckled. “How come?” He looked at you over his shoulder from where he stood in your walk-in closet. He pulled a pair of boxers up his legs and walked over to you with panties and one of his t-shirts in hand. He knelt in front of you and proceeded to slip the underwear up your smooth legs, placing a few loving kisses on the way.

“I just-,” You sighed and placed your hands on his shoulders, sliding them up and caressing his neck and his perfect jaw. “You love me so good, Tommy. I just lose my mind. Literally.”

He smiled at you smugly. He leaned in to kiss you, his tongue sliding against yours just right.

“Don’t say stuff like that, darling,” he said when you broke apart. “We already had sex three times today. You’re gonna kill me.”

You chuckled and pulled him into a big cuddle, where you stayed for a couple of minutes, snuggling and stealing little kisses before he pulled back.

“Besides,” he stated smugly, “I’m sure we can figure out a way to keep these claws at bay.”

—

Except you didn’t. No matter what you did, what you tried, sex in the next few days ended with Tom having to pull you away or hold you down to keep you from bruising him.

You had tried several different positions where you wouldn’t be able to scratch down his back. When you were on top, you sank your nails in his chest. Reverse cowgirl? Nails into his thighs. If he held your wrists down, you sank your teeth into his shoulder or his neck. 

“I don’t want to have to tie you up every time we make love, baby.” Tom had mumbled against the back of your neck sleepily one night when you cuddled on the sofa.

“We can just do doggy,” you mumbled back.

He sighed and snuggled closer to you. You smiled privately when you felt his excitement growing in his pants, poking you on your lower back.

“Every time, though?” He whined. “I like it when you hold me. And I like kissing you and looking into your beautiful eyes.”

A smile split on your face with the love you felt for him. You tilted your head to meet his lips and that’s how you tested sideways sex. He had to pull your head back by your hair at the very last moment. You had nearly sunk your teeth into his jaw.

At the moment, he had you bent over the arm of the sofa and propped on your elbows. His body was flush against your back and his strong arms wrapped around you, reached forward to hold your hands in his. He was fucking you so slowly, so deeply, so lovingly. He was touching everywhere inside, dragging against your throbbing walls and then holding his engorged tip flush against your sweetest spot for a few seconds. Each time barely leaving your heat before sliding all the way in again with maddening rotating movements of his hips. Your legs spread, shaking in arousal, allowed for constant stimulation on your clit as it pressed against the leathery cushions.

Tom had pushed all your hair to one side so he could whisper words of love and press kisses against your flushed skin. Every touch and every murmur from his lips made your heart grow bigger and your pleasure settle intensely at the pit of your belly.

“I love you so much, my princess,” Tom purred to the side of your neck. “You feel so good. God, Y/N, I love you.”

“Love you, Tommy,” you whined. “You make me feel so good.”

“I’m so close,” he grunted and sped up his movements slightly, “Want you to come with me, baby. Can you come for me?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “I’m close.”

“Yeah, baby?” Tom asked and quickened his harsh thrusts. The sounds of your skin slapping together took over the space around you.

“Yes!” You cried as he slammed onto your g-spot repeatedly. “Oh- Tom, don’t stop!”

He didn’t. He didn’t stop until you were both taken over the edge, grinding roughly onto each other as you rode the waves of your orgasms and sloppily made out with his hand on your throat and your head tilted back.

Tom slipped out of you when his excitement went down and flipped you over gently. He kissed you deeply for a couple of minutes and you basked in the love he poured into it. You ran your hands through his hair and all over his back to take in his warmth, his love, his presence.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Tom murmured multiple times in between soft, intimate kisses that made you chuckle.

“I love you too,” you whispered, “so much.”

He smiled at you and when he raised a hand to brush away the hair sticking to your forehead, you saw angry red marks on his arm.

“On, no,” you gasped. “Tom, I did it again. I’m so sorry!”

He chuckled and shushed you with yet another kiss.

“I don’t care anymore,” he said, “they can just cover it up with makeup.” He cupped your face and ran a thumb over your bottom lip. “I want you to be able to express your love. Don’t hold back, baby”

[notmrskennedy]

Noticed

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

A/N - Howdy! Here’s another little something from my drafts. It’s a draft and a half again so be gentle with it. Also, I’m touch averse and I would be so happy to find someone I wasn’t upset with touching. But c’est la vie! I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary - The touch averse agent starts getting touchy....

W/C - 2.5k

Warnings - none I think, but lmk if there is something

-------------

If Morgan was being honest with himself, he thought you were dying. Or maybe ill. Or so feverish you’d abandoned every single principle you had. Because he’d been there that first day of yours, waltzing up from the coffee machine to see you nervously trailing behind Hotch. It was painful to watch, he remembers, so terribly nervous you’d envy the kid on one of his bad days.

He had smiled at you and stirred his coffee and remained optimistic that someone so obviously terrified would be a decent field agent. (You’d been decent and then some, especially in an interrogation room). There’d been one non-committal wave—distinctly reminiscent of a certain genius—and the first full sentence of, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t do the touching thing. Handshakes included.”

Every little touch plagues you. You’re six inches away at all times, lest someone accidentally bump into you or get the wrong idea that you might be willing to brush shoulders. There’s no friendly pats. No high fives. Certainly no hugs. Garcia is furious in her attempt to loosen you up—to no avail—but Morgan knows better than to push. Something makes you hate skin to skin contact and he’s not looking to share trauma stories with you. Not yet.

So this, Morgan thinks as he wanders into the bullpen while stirring his coffee, is a sign that you’ve lost your mind.

He watches as you carefully extend one palm to one Dr. Spencer Reid. Perched on the edge of his desk, you’re a regular fixture, just another cute figurine to add to the collection. It’s the end to some wild discussion he could hear in the kitchenette, full of flailing limbs and butchered sentences. Everyone always thought it was cute, if you stripped away how irritating it could be.

This is the point where you two are caught up in whatever moment you’re having, so much so that you extend an upturned palm between the two of you. Reid threads his hands through his hair, stunned at your peace offering. Or maybe an offering of something more than friendship. Morgan assumes its something more; not only because you have the softest grin he’s ever seen, but because your fingers are practically begging the kid to hold your hand.

Reid’s careful in how he asks his question—Morgan doesn’t know what it is, but he can just tell. The wide eyes. The scared contemplation. The are you sure parting the kid’s lips.

Grinning and blushing, you just wiggle your fingers. Murmur something that Morgan isn’t allowed to hear. Something only for Spencer. There’s surprise before he grips onto your hand, wriggling all ten combined fingers together. You giggle as you spin him around in his desk chair and get tangled up.

Dropped jaw and grinning, Morgan can’t believe you, so touch averse you, are willing engaging in such risky behaviour. There’s a weird few moments when he wants to remind both of you to wear protection in such endeavours.

And as he’s wondering if hands need condoms, the two of you let go and move on like nothing’s happened. You go back to punctuating your points with your flailing hands. Spencer goes back to distracting from his blush with paperwork.

Morgan goes to get more coffee, trying to stop imaging that you two were his kids, growing up without his consent. And maybe also the hand condoms.

#

It’s shortly after JJ’s wedding—about midnight as the cleaning crew are picking up the straggling drunks—both Hotch and Rossi notice. They’re leaned up against the bar, each smoking a cigar, watching a slightly tipsy you teach an awkwardly sober Spencer Reid how to swing dance.

It’s no secret that you and Reid get on like a house on fire, two nerds that couldn’t shut up about whatever weird ass shit was on your brains. Rossi never made much move to care. Hotch was too stressed to think about what the pair of you did off company time. Everyone, them included, imagined that what time you did spend together was three feet apart. In museums. Wherever. No one questioned what kind of weird nerd shit you did, especially stuff that they couldn’t really be bothered to care about.

Now, they’re forced to carefully consider the implications of how touchy you’re getting. With Reid.

He’s even more gangly and uncoordinated than normal, as Hotch and Rossi watch on, getting thrown around like a rag doll. It’s kind of adorable, Rossi thinks and shares a well meaning look with Hotch. The two of you would be cute and he’s hoping that you do get together. Rossi always knows about these things, even if Hotch is positive that you two are just friends. And as two professional gentlemen do, they made a bet.

Twenty bucks.

Your laugh—one that no one gets tired of hearing—echoes around Rossi’s whole yard, even into his house. Reid’s voice is about two octaves too high as you spin him around on his wobbly feet. You go from three feet apart to chest to chest and back again. Rossi remembers high school dances vaguely and Hotch absently thinks about Hayley’s old infatuation with Grease.

Rossi takes another long drag from his cigar, grateful for the indisputable proof that you two are shacking up. There is no way that two people so touch averse could be touching this much without prior exposure. The yard is a ruckus of both of your laughters, year after year of awkwardness falling off you both in sheets. They’re no denying you two shut in nerds are finally having some fun.

It’s warming both Hotch and Rossi’s hearts.

And their bet.

#

Penelope notices next. Who knew that such a simple interaction could leave her speechless? Stammering and stuttering over not even a full minute of insanity.

She didn’t know how she’d gotten sick, or what she’d come down with, but the only thing that was keeping her in her work chair was you. And the endless buckets of soup that you kept pouring down her throat. Without a case—thank god—for the last couple days, all that you’ve done is sit in the bat cave, keeping her and her soup warm.

It’s as you are finishing some corny ass joke that she thinks how sweet you are. How loving. Penelope’s love language has always been touch—she’s given too many hugs to count—but it’s taken her a minute to figure out yours. And as she stares into the chicken soup in her hands, she realises that it’s everything you do for her. Your love is literally palpable.

It’s in the bright keychains you bring back. Or the crazy pens. Or the way you always drive her home after drinking.

As she’s opening her mouth to tell you, tell you just how much she appreciates everything, when Reid pops his head in, whole body following. He’s got too much of a grin this early. But when he’s far enough into the room, he spreads his fingers out over your shoulder and squeezes. Says something about a case and you follow behind him with a wave of your hand at Penelope. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like Penelope hasn’t been the one furiously trying to break you out of your shell. The predetermined first to get a hug in the office.

You’re still up and still waving and by the time she’s got her wits about her, she’s asking, “You let Reid touch you?”

The empty room and the closing door don’t answer.

#

JJ is nearly the last to find out. Well, your little touching relationship with Spencer has been the only topic of gossip between anyone for the last six weeks. They can’t believe they hadn’t picked up on the little bits of affection passed between the two of you.

Hand touches. Shoulder squeezes. Quick brushes. The mystical hug Morgan claims he once saw.

For the rest of the world, you and Spencer were nothing but friendly. Maybe even best friendly. To the team of highly trained profilers who had been friends with the pair of you for a combined 15 years, this was marriage material. This was you and Spencer screaming the pair of you had eloped.

You two crazy kids had to be together, but the team was left to sussing it out for themselves. Neither of you two would ever say anything, never give anything up. But surely, the three of them—using Penelope would be cheating of course—could figure out when you two had started up. Because you had to have. There was no way all of this was just friendly.

And it isn’t. That much is clear when JJ gets a phone call from you while she’s looking a crime scene over for what feels like the gazillionth time. Some un-sub with the usual cocktail of daddy issues, anger issues, and a healthy dose of narcissism.

It’s rare you call anyone without good reason. You aren’t the type to just chat—everyone has speculated you got enough of that from Spencer. And once JJ says hello, you start bawling.

You’re sobbing and JJ has no idea what to do.

“Y/n, y/n,” she tries, hoping you’ll calm down enough to breathe properly. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s—it’s Spencer,” you hiccup. JJ can hear you sniffling into your sleeves. Can hear the blinkers go as you change lanes. “He’s not answering—not answering his phone. And he said he’d—that he’d call, but he hasn’t. And JJ something’s wrong.”

By the way your breath hitches and your sobs crackle into the phone, JJ knows exactly how bad it has to be. Spencer, however, is supposed to be following up a lead with Emily. Some paint huffer in his mom’s garage—nothing more than a routine witness report. She almost can’t believe something would go wrong.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“JJ,” you sniffle before the flood gates open again, “I can just feel it. Something’s wrong.”

JJ’s mind scrambles. As much as you played it off, you had a sixth sense. Every time, every countable time, someone got hurt, you knew before it happened. You had a gut for these things and JJ didn’t want to think about how bad this was going to be. How bloody. So she scrambles for her car and doesn’t wait for the other detectives to figure it out.

JJ’s halfway to the witness’s house when you make it there yourself. You’re still on the phone, doing a horrible attempt at trying to keep each other calm. You’ve traded the sobs for hiccups, thankfully. JJ can hear you climbing the porch stairs. She’s taking corners at 65 miles an hour.

Nothing seems fast enough when JJ hears the phone clatter to the floor and the shout of “oh my god, Spencer!”

Nothing is fast enough when you’re sobbing out, “You can’t die on me like this.”

Nothing is fast enough when JJ quietly but distinctly hears, “I love you too much for you to fucking die, Spencer Reid.”

#

Spencer Reid always thinks he’s the last to find out. He’s blunt and oblivious and thinks too much to just see what’s in front of his face. He was so sure they had all seen how in love he was, just how desperately he was clinging to the hope they wouldn’t notice. If they didn’t notice, you wouldn’t. Not while wearing the same sort of blinders he wore.

But once everything had come out? He was positive everyone else had known. That he’d come into work one morning and there would be a cake engraved with the words, “Congrats on Shacking Up!”

It never happened. No cake. No lights. No surprises. No one seemed to know or notice or anything. Spencer and you went on like nothing had changed—it really hadn’t anyway. He liked to laugh when you told him the two of you had been practically dating since the first time he’d offered to take you to a Korean film festival.

Two years later and he’s become very aware of you. And also the ache. All of the very dull and consistent ache in his body. Another scar to add to the collection, he bitterly thinks, out of anaesthesia enough to know that he’s in a hospital. That he’s been hurt. That someone’s holding his hand.

It’s calloused and soft and just perfectly latched onto his. A hand he’d waited to hold for too long. One that he’d be holding for the rest of his life.

Attached to the hand is you, sleeping haphazardly between his bed and a plastic chair. Your fingers are tangled in his, head rested on the crook of your arm and the bed. There’s too much of you curled up in a chair. It’s one of his favourite bits about you, just how dedicated you could be. How you were always there when he woke up and always would be.

He smiles and chuckles despite the pain in his ribs. You wake with a start, one startled gasp followed by a shuddery exhale as you realise again where you are. That nothing’s changed. That everything’s changed.

Through lidded eyes, he watches your eyes light up, matching you grin for grin. He watches the anger flash across your face for not even a second, and he knows exactly how bad you want to murder him for scaring you so bad.

Instead, you press frantic kisses to the back of his knuckles, message fully received. You missed him. You’d been terrified. You’d cried so hard, he can still feel the salt on your lips.

“Spencer,” you breathe, giving his hand one more kiss for good measure and pressing his knuckles to your cheek. “God, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m alive, y/n, I promise,” he whispers back. Hoarse and adorably okay. It’s one thing to expect to get shot going after un-subs. It’s another to get attacked by a PCP addled grandmother.

He wiggles a finger against your cheek. Even though he can’t see your red rimmed eyes or the dark tear tracts on your cheeks, he can feel the tear that pools on his finger. But before he can reassure you one more time, you shush him and tell him to get some sleep and that you’ll both worry about this later. Maybe over jell-o.

He grins.

#

The team, visiting the next morning, doesn’t have the heart to wake up either of you. Reid looks happy for the first time in—years—with you carefully curled into his side. Sure, there’s a scratchy hospital gown and some pesky lines overriding everything, but it’s cute. No denying that. Thank god you two knuckleheads are finally being open about it. Even if you’re sleeping.

Emily smiles to herself as she readjusts her sling. Morgan and JJ are trading exclamations of shock, while Hotch passes Rossi twenty dollars. You readjust and Reid’s arm moves to rest across your cheek. JJ isn’t subtle when she takes a photo, sniggering.

Emily is even less subtle when she snorts. “I guess I can finally let the cat out of the bag.”

Everyone perks up; she swears she sees Reid open an eye.

“Nearly six months ago, y/n drunkenly confessed to dating Reid. She’s a real wild card on tequila, let me tell you.”

“You knew?” Morgan screeches, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Emily shrugs, winces with her busted up shoulder. “Does it matter? Didn’t we all know?”

[yelenasdog]

𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 (𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐖𝐈  𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: wherever they go, it seems they can’t escape each other

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6.09k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smoking, drinking, kissing, getting ~steamy~, but nothing explicit.

𝐚/𝐧: this kinda feels melodramatic at times, but over all i think this is an alright fic that took me forever LOL! i hope you enjoy it! btw,

this can be read as ben!rog or just rog, i just was thinking of ben!rog when i wrote it

also if u wanna listen to kiwi while listening, the vibes would be immaculate and i reccomend it :D kk enjoy

✺🎬✺

Her footsteps were mute as she padded forward on the concrete, searching furiously through her crochet bag. The box in her hands stayed tightly gripped though, Roger noted. He waited a bit until he was certain she had no chance of finding what he thought she was looking for, and that he would be her last resort.

“Need a light?”

He watched with careful eyes as the girl next to him fumbled about to pick out a cigarette from the nearly emptied box, probably just some cheap ones from the gas station near the dorms.

“Yes, thanks.”

The brunet nodded, bringing his forward to her’s and inhaling, a few loose embers falling to the ground in a sparkling orange flurry.

Roger observed the way her chipped nails on ring adorned fingers shakily held the cigarette as she brought it to her lips, taking a very long drag.

It was windy out that night (which was the reason he was telling himself he decided not to bother with his Zippo), her silky black dress doing barely a thing to keep her covered from the chilly temperatures. He noticed the blue tint to her formerly painted lips, only a pale stain of color left behind. He also happened to notice the goosebumps that graced her exposed arms and legs, and her slight shiver that came with it.

The girl nervously adjusted the twisted strap to her purse, sending a glance in Rog’s direction every once in a while, but mostly she kept her gaze fixed on the stars above. She seemed to be mesmerized by the way they twinkled so brightly, even in the polluted sky. The bottles of liquor in her purse clinked together, and she cringed visibly at the sound, a shiver being sent through her bones.

He smiled at her behavior, oddly endeared by it, perhaps even enchanted.

“What’s your name?”

She turned, taking the stick from between her lips. Roger kept his eyes glued to the plump flesh momentarily despite the movement away from the area.

“That’s none of your business, Roger.” She smiled, a playful look set ablaze in her eyes.

He looked down, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“How do you know my name, then?” He questioned curiously, slanting his eyes and quirking a brow.

“Your band.” Her voice seemed softer, almost a fond tone set within it.

“You’ve seen us play?”

“Yeah, you guys are good.”

“You’re a fan then?”

She chuckled, looking to her feet.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

He laughed, nodding yet again.

They stayed together for some time, silently and mutually agreeing that enough had been said. They finished off their smokes, and with that, she turned to go.

“Bye, Roger.”

He bit his lip, feeling the sting shoot through him. He was conflicted on if to make a move, not wanting to diminish his confident and cool reputation he believed he had built for himself. He settled for shouting something along the lines of “will I see you around?” (which upon thinking back over it, maybe it wasn’t that cool), to which she only shrugged and kept walking.

He could hear the bottles loudly clanking together as she sauntered off, lord knows where to. He watched her go until she turned the corner, tossing one final look in his direction before continuing on, leaving him in deep thought.

-

“I’m telling you, mate, she was drop dead gorgeous. And I have no idea who she is, no name or anything!”

Brian rolled his eyes, tossing his notebook across the room onto the yellow sofa Roger was resting on, turning his full attention to his distraught friend.

“Well, did you ask her for her name?”

He shook his head, rolling his eyes in a similar manner to Bri. “Yes, I did. She said it was ‘none of my business’.” He scoffed, twirling a single drumstick between his fingers while tapping his foot repeatedly, annoying Brian to no end (per usual). The curly headed man only barked out a laugh, finding the entire situation quite humorous, if he was being honest.

“But she knew the band! Said that she thought we were good. S’ like she couldn’t make up her damn mind.” He grumbled, slumping forward.

“Wait, she knows the band?”

The drummer looked at him like he had two heads nodding slowly.

“Yeah, what about it?”

Brian stood up and sighed, grabbing his guitar and headed to the edge of the bar’s stage, resting behind the curtain briefly.

“You really are thick, Roger.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” He joined him by the curtain, noticing Tim had come up behind the pair.

“What’s all this about, then?”

“Nothing.” Brian and Roger replied in unison. Tim huffed, making his way onto the stage where the growing crowd was waiting. Cheers could be heard for the frontman as he introduced himself, saying something about how the rest of the band would be out in a second, and that they were just having some “sound issues”.

“Rog, if she’s a fan, she’s probably here tonight, yes?”

His eyes widened, and he suddenly began to feel quite dumb, not that he would admit it.

“Yeah, I suppose so…but she said she wasn’t a fan?” He trailed off, confused.

“She probably was just saying that for some reason. I don’t know, women are odd, they like to play hard to get.” Brian commented, oddly flippant for how conflicting his statement was.

Roger stood in place for a moment, still greatly confused what Brian was trying to get at. He shook his head and furrowed his brows, trying to put together the puzzle of this mess in his mind.

“Roger, for God's sake, don’t think about it, just go.”

Following his advice, Roger did his best to disregard any previous thoughts of confusion, a switch flipping in his mind. He stood taller, saying, “You know what Bri, maybe you’re right.”

“Great, go on then.” He watched as Roger bounded out with a newfound adrenaline and a smile plastered on his face, rolling his eyes for what wouldn’t be the final time that night at his bandmate’s antics.

As soon as he had made it behind his kit, he was scanning the crowded room, trying to locate the girl from last night. He watched the door throughout the performance, trying to see if she might have just come in a bit late. He held the hope she would somehow show up with him in his mind, but all to no avail.

The entire night, he couldn’t shake the thought of her lips from his mind, or the way the skin of her neck was so open and exposed, practically begging for him to attack it with his own lips. And with the way things were going thus far, he was sure that pretty face of her’s would be the death of him, he was certain, in fact.

“Find her?” Bri had questioned almost as soon as they had ended for the night, the lot of them now working on cleaning up.

“Nah. She never showed up.”

“I’m sorry, Rog. Maybe you’ll see her again soon, the campus isn’t that huge, you know.” Roger’s mouth formed a thin line as he raised his eyebrows, not convinced in the slightest that the situation proposed would occur.

“At this point I’m wondering if she’s even a bloody student here.” Roger grumbled, obviously no longer feeling the initial electric adrenaline of the night's performance.

Brian frowned, placing a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder and patting it once or twice before standing to go finish packing up.

It was later now, and the boys were finally leaving the bar, bidding their goodbyes to those around them. Roger walked out the front (in what Tim and Brian joked was a ‘moping manner’), hearing the bell jangle above his head, ringing annoyingly in his ear. The cold air hit him like an arctic breeze (or a ton of bricks, he wasn’t sure which description was more fitting). He shook his head and blinked a few times, as if that would rid his body of the frigid feeling. He sighed dramatically and pulled his corduroy jacket tighter around himself, watching as his breath made a small cloud in front of him.

“Roger?”

He turned, recognizing the voice immediately.

“Having a pity party, are you?” She giggled out, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“It’s only me, so no. Not a party.”

She “ahh”-d in understanding, her mouth forming into a sly grin. Her lips were a pale pink color that night, her eyes a bright blue shade. And similarly to the night previous, she was graced with only a brown fringed dress, her matching boots in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other.

“Then what would it be if I joined you?”

He stood in thought, tilting his head. “I think then, yeah, it would be a party.”

“Do you not get cold, ever?” He added after a beat of silence, observing her ill outfit choice for the frosty climate. She rolled her eyes, muttering out a brief “ha, ha.”

Roger couldn’t help but bite his lip, holding back a laugh.

“I do on occasion get a little bit chilly. But I like the feeling.”

He tilted his head, walking over to where she was leaning against the brick wall of the dive bar. He turned to face her, not that she noticed, putting his weight on the rough surface behind him.

“It makes me feel,” she hesitated, struggling to find the right word, although she felt it was right on the tip of her tongue.

“Alive?”

She finally met his eyes after what seemed like forever, softly nodding. To him, she looked like an angel in that moment, the street light so beautifully illuminating her locks like a halo around her. He reached a cautious hand forward, dragging it against her cheek, down to her bottom lip.

Her mind was screaming at her to leave while she still could, to somehow not fall in the mix of the infamous campus player that was Roger Taylor.

But her heart? Well, as cliche as it sounds, her heart was telling her to disregard any reasonable thoughts and just kiss the bastard, for God’s sake.

And if anyone knew Y/n Y/l/n, they knew that most times, she would listen to the latter mentioned, rather than the former. And so after several moments of unbearable silence, she decided she would. Catching on relatively fast, Roger took her flush against him, Y/n able to feel his breath fanning over her face.

She leaned forward with a small smile, placing her hands on either side of his face. Her eyes wandered to his plump and rosy lips, adrenaline pumping through her veins. But before she could make the final leap, so to say, Brian, of all people, called out her name in a confused nature, squinting, believing that it might have been his eyes deceiving him. The girl from his 9 a.m. lecture could not possibly be about to snog his bandmate.

Impossible.

Her eyes widened, head turning immediately when hearing her name fall from his lips.

“Brian, hey!”

“Wait, you two know each other?”

Ignoring Roger’s (panicked) question, Brian walked over, a look of amazement still prevalent in his features. She moved from Roger’s side over to Brian, giving him a side hug, Bri’s arm resting on her shoulders.

“I see you’ve met Y/n. She’s in my astronomy class.”

She smiled brightly as the neon signs lining the downtown district of bars and restaurants alike, meeting Brians gaze.

“Yup, got to love Dr. Martin’s lectures.” She chuckled, the tall man next to her doing the same.

Picking up on Roger’s absolutely bewildered appearance, still taking in the situation unfolding in front of him, Brian took the liberty of initiating another conversation.

“So, Y/n, did you see the show tonight?”

She frowned, crossing her arms.

“Wanted to, but no, got caught up in the library. I have my final for statistics on Thursday, or else I would have been there.” She locked eyes with Roger, giving him a soft smile. Suddenly changing her demeanor, she reached into her bag she always seemed to have with her, pulling out those cheap cigarettes and her Zippo. She lit one of the sticks, inhaling.

“In fact, I heard your drummer was incredible, so I thought I would try to see him in action tonight.” Her gaze never left Rogers as she conversed, her mouth pressed in a line, the rest of her face completely neutral.

“But you’ve seen us before Y/n, he’s been with the band for quite some time.”

“I mean, I wanted to see him with a fresh pair of eyes, a different perspective, I guess.”

Still mildly confused, Brain shook his head and muttered something like “Right, okay” to which Y/n softly smiled at before dropping the cigarette from her hand. Barefoot, she couldn’t reach down to step on it, have the sparks die out under her toes.

“Could one of you get that, please?”

Roger nodded immediately, his boot finding its way quickly, the toe of it making a circular motion. His eyes stayed on Y/n, as had hers before. And despite the bustling city around them, Hell, even despite Brian’s perplexed stare, it felt oddly intimate, as if they were locked onto each other’s view (not that they were complaining).

But they weren’t, as she proved mere seconds later, abruptly bidding them goodbye and heading the opposite direction.

The pair of boys watched her as she went, heads tilted and jaws dropped to where if their mothers were present, they would be scolded to “close their mouths before they catch flies in there!”.

“That’s her, you know.” Roger commented bluntly, slightly shaking his head and then popping his lip.

Brian took a moment, turning toward his friend, stuttering.

“As in, her, her? Y/n is mystery girl?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, well, good luck with that, Rog.”

“Why would I need that, Brian?” He challenged, putting his hands on his hips, lifting his chin. Brain kept his assumed position, moving his hand to scratch at his neck.

‘Well, I’m sure if you hang out around her enough, you’ll find out.”

Rather than shouting out at him, asking him what the Hell he meant, as he really wanted to, Roger paid Bri no attention, not even giving him a second look before under his breath saying “I’ll see you later”, and in what Brian considered to be a quite shocking turn of events, bolting off in the direction Y/n had gone.

He ignored the shouts from Brian, ignored the judgmental stares and loud whispers of those who recognized him from the band. He no longer cared about keeping his ‘cool reputation’, not when she was so close.

“Is that Roger Taylor?”, “Oi, isn’t that the drummer from the band at the pub?”, “Hey, why’s he buggin’ out?” all flooded his ears, usually followed by what seemed to be snickering, making a desperate attempt to cloud his mind from his self-assigned mission. But it was no use, as he was set on catching up to her. In fact, she was so close he swore he could smell the mixed scent that was uniquely her, smoke and her perfume.

He hollered her name, God, he yelled it till his throat was hoarse, just ‘cause he could. He loved the way it rolled off his tongue, he loved the fact he even had learned it to begin with, and that alone was probably why he adored it so much.

She heard his cries, turning where she stood and tilting her head.

“Roger? What on Earth are you doing?”

He finally met her, bent over on his hands and knees, breath lost in totality. She placed a concerned hand on his sweaty head, combing through his chocolate locks. He would have shivered at the feeling, if he had the energy. Rather, he looked up with the goofiest smile she’d ever seen, resembling a golden retriever, or german shepherd perhaps, in human form.

‘D’you wanna go somewhere with me? Hang out a bit?”

She nodded, holding out a hand.

“Lead the way.”

-

“Mom and Dad want me to be some kind of a scientist, study the stars.”

“Yeah? And what do you think about that.”

She tilted her head, shifting her position.

“I’m not quite sure. I wouldn’t be against it, that I know. The stars are beautiful, but they aren’t where my heart lies, I guess.”

He turned to face her, their noses almost touching. She could feel his breath fanning over her face, and the proximity sent butterflies through her stomach.

“I want to be an actress.” She all but whispered, turning her attention back to the full night sky and the wonders that hung in it.

“An actress, huh?”

She only hummed a confirmation, moving her left hand to pick at the cool grass under her palms.

“I could see that. You, I mean, on the big screens.”

She turned, and Roger swore he had never seen anyone smile so big before in his life.

“Really?”

His own smile grew, and she nodded vigorously, the two of them beginning to laugh. He pulled her closer by her shoulders, unaware of where the conversation would lead.

“I’ll go to New York. You’ll see me on billboards in Times Square.”

“Well, that’s nice to know. I’ll just be a lone dentist somewhere, while you forget all about me, having lavish parties and such. Whatever it is that famous people do.” His voice was obviously joking, melodramatic was written all over him, yet Y/n couldn’t help but still feel a sliver of guilt.

She hit his arm, rolling back over to face him. She still had a smile glued onto her lips, both of their eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“Oh, shut up, will you? Smile will make it big, and we’ll meet again, when you’re on tour. Or perhaps if I’m filming where you’re performing! We’ll have those nights to ourselves, It’ll be a secret rendezvous.”

She turned to her back again, finding his hand on the damp green, her heart beating a million miles a second as she reached for it, slowly entangling her fingers in his.

“The papers will write about us, Rog, when they find out. ‘Famous actress Y/n Y/l/n seen leaving a hotel with renowned drummer Roger Taylor’ is what the headlines will say. God, what a scene we’ll cause.” Her eyes were full of  excitement as she spoke, her heart feeling like it was so filled with glee that it could soar out of her chest.

“Well, I wanna know the specifics.” Roger sat up, pulling her up with him, she giggled, and the brunette wrapped a hand around her waist. She sat beside him, the streetlight by the backroad she had led them on illuminating her like a silhouette. She bit her lip and grinned, tilting her head up to better exam Rogers angelic features.

“Are you gonna have some bloke waiting for you at home, hmm? Waiting for you while you conquer the world, only for you to break his poor heart?”

“Nah.” Her answer was immediate, her eyes honest as she spoke. “Only a cactus. He’ll be my only friend. I hear it’s lonely in Hollywood, Roger.” He raised his eyebrows briefly at this, choosing his next words.

“You’ll have me?”

His head turned to look at her, admiring the way the pale moonlight illuminated her, the artificial light from the streetlamps not doing her neverending beauty and justice, in his opinion. Their eyes seemed sporadic, searching each other's faces for signs of what they were doing, possibly being wrong, but they found nothing, as expected.

The yearning had become all too much for the inspired pair, and it felt like at last, all they could do, the only thing they could do, was kiss.

So they did. Roger took her face in his hands, closing his beautiful eyes, his eyelashes barely brushing against hers. He leaned forward, joining them together, finding that they immediately moved in a perfect synchronization. They were like two sides of the same coin, and that seemed to be particularly evident in that moment. By the contrast of their lips, or perhaps the aspirations of their careers becoming somehow just a little bit clearer.

But it didn’t matter, none of it did. Not in the long run. So they pulled apart, chests heaving and faces painted with childish grins.

It was quiet then, only the crickets and the howling wind could be heard. But she liked it that way, preferred it, actually. So quiet, in fact, that Roger was able to fall fast asleep, Y/n lying comfortably in his arms. She stared at the stars, then back to his sleeping figure, her mind unable to come to a consensus on what on God's green Earth she was to do. 

She settled for placing a kiss on his jaw, closing her eyes. His eyes only fluttered, never waking completely. She muttered something like “See you, rockstar.” against it, before standing up and walking away, only turning back once to see his sleeping form one more time.

That was the last time for 6 years that he would see Y/n Y/l/n. See her in person, at least.

When he woke up the next morning, he was confused to say the least, wondering why Y/n didn’t wake him, mostly wondering where she had even gone. He looked around himself, patting the green grass beneath him, as if she somehow was invisible and he had missed her upon initial glance. He had shouted for her, his throat still hurting from when he did the same thing only 12 hours previous. 

He had felt out of control, like the one he had been chasing had just slipped through his fingers (which it had). He had remembered asking Bri, day after day, if he had seen her in class, even just seen her around in general. Everytime the answer was the same.

“No Roger”, “I’m sorry, Roger”, “Not today, Roger”. It was a horrible, predictable pattern, that he had enough of. He was supposed to recover from it quickly, bounce back from her almost immediately, as there was basically nothing to bounce back from.

But he couldn’t, and due to such reasons, he supposed he finally understood what Brian had said, or warned, that night before he had gone chasing after her. He got it, in his own sad way.

And over the years, she slowly faded to the back of the drummer's mind, behind groupies, and songs, and shows, and such, just for her to resurface again any time he saw her on a billboard, just as she had promised. But he never let it show, outwardly at least.

He had made Brian swear not to tell the others, never to breathe a word of it to Deaky or Fred. He was embarrassed by it, for some reason, and that’s why he guessed he forbade him from speaking of it. But how long can you keep a silly college secret from your nosy bandmates? Apparently 6 years, tops, for Roger Taylor.

“Alright, everyone. Gather ‘round, I’ve got a surprise.” Freddie had said, his grumbling bunch of friends tired from their day’s work. Though, they usually had grown to appreciate and look forward to Fred’s “surprises”, today everyone was just a tad bit too grumpy to try (a certain Roger Taylor in particular, let’s call it foreshadowing).

“Oh, stop your moaning and whining, please, I promise this will be good!” the eccentric frontman had said, something hidden behind his back in his left hand.

Rog ran a hand through his, now, blond hair, exhaling in such a way that made Freddie slant his eyes, before giving in and rolling them at his flippant behavior.

“What’s going on, Fred?” Brian had been the brave soul to ask, stepping forward and then looking away momentarily to place his guitar onto a stand waiting not so far away.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He replied, jumping down from his place on the risers, removing his hand from his back and holding out what seemed to be 4 tickets to something. He walked down the loosely formed line of men, putting one in each of their extended palms. Roger, at the end of their formation of sorts, became concerned when Brian had burst out laughing, looking to his right, being met with Roger’s face of confusion.

Freddie, possibly more confused than Roger, pressing the piece of thick paper into his hand, his gaze falling onto Brian, who now had tears in his eyes.

“Bri, what’s so… funny. Shit.” He had looked down to the slip, the only words he needed to read to know he was absolutely screwed, being “Jaws” and “Premiere”.

Now, anybody who knew anything, knew that Y/n Y/l/n was going to be in the film that was said to become the blockbuster of the summer, playing the role of Ellen Brody (though a few had said she was far too young for the job). She had been an overnight success in the film industry, gaining popularity from the 1973 film, ‘The Sting’, playing Billie.

And Roger had watched ‘The Sting’, and you can imagine his surprise when Y/n had sauntered onto screen, red lipped and fresh faced. (He had to admit, she looked great in a suit.)

After that, the assault on Roger’s fragile heart was never ending.

Billboards began to pop up even more frequently as she was to star in more films, and it seemed no matter where he was touring, he couldn’t escape her. Whether it was posters, her face printed on newspapers, adverts in about every place business was done for one of her films, he felt like he was being followed. He had even seen an article about her in a magazine, and when he had flipped the page he was greeted with Queen’s smiling faces.

He had stopped watching them after ‘American Graffiti’.

So, he figured that this one wouldn’t be any different, and he simply planned on ignoring said film until he caved, doing his best to avoid her on the silver screen and anywhere else, which hadn’t been too difficult until this point (not).

But this? This was a whole new level of being royally fucked.

“Brian, Rog, something you want to share with the rest of the class?” John had asked, cocking his head and propping his legs up on the coffee table in front of him. Brian began to speak, wrapping an arm around Roger’s shoulders, the shorter man looking up at him with angry fire burning in his eyes.

“Well, I’m honestly quite excited. The film industry has always seemed very intriguing, actually, and I’m looking forward to meeting new people. Rog?”

“No.”

“No?” John repeated, “No, what?” He waved a hand around, trying to understand what Roger’s problem was.

“I just- I don’t- I knew-”

“Roger had a fling with Y/n Y/l/n and she broke his heart.” Brain blurted out, Roger turning and immediately smacking him upside his curly head of hair. He regarded an “Ouch!” before him and the rest of the boys burst out laughing, the drummer not included in that demographic, fuming.

“Rog, darling, when was this? How did we not know?” Freddie managed to breathe out, sitting down next to Deaky on the studio sofa. He crossed his hands and ankles, his full attention turned towards Roger who really, really didn’t wanna have to do this, and who really, really was gonna get Brian back for this later. Would he untune all his guitars? Unplug his amp during rehearsals, perhaps put hair remover in his shampoo? But, that would have to wait until after he was forced to spill his 6 year secret.

“It was in 69-”

“69?!” Freddie had cried out. “It’s been 6 bloody years? And you didn’t think to tell us?”

“Well I didn’t really see a reason it would be necessary to tell you all! In fact, I probably wouldn’t have told you ever if this bloke didn’t have such a big mouth!”

“Hey, watch it.” Brian weighed in, crossing his arms and fluttering his eyes.

“Look, Roger I really don’t see the issue here. We go to the premiere, you just keep a low profile and ignore Y/n, problem solved.” John cut in, trying to be helpful.

Keyword: trying.

“And how exactly will I do that?”

“We will behave, I promise.” Freddie added, though Roger seemed to be having a difficult time believing him or his claim for the others. So Roger only scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.”

-

Cameras were flashing brightly, reporters and such were shouting loudly, and Y/n was already exhausted.

Her red lips were painted like DeAngelo had done it himself, and her hair was styled just the way she liked. The heels she was wearing per request of her stylist, though, were horrible. They looked lovely, yes, but they were digging into her poor ankles, and she still had to wear them for who knew how long. She didn’t complain, though, she wouldn’t dream of it.

She would just continue her slow walk down the carpet, a sultry smile on her face. The black fabric of the gown she was wearing fit her beautifully, snug in all the right places.

She sure hoped it was, at least. Especially because she knew that he would be there.

Roger Taylor, the blessed drummer that managed to make a home in the backburner of her mind, his success coming as no surprise to the actress. She had loved every one of their records, and rather than running from his work like Roger had, she opted for going straight to the record shop, purchasing any and every Queen album in her sight. When she had checked out, the very shocked cashier had made some remark, asking something about “you a fan?”

She had thought about it for a moment, thinking back to all those years ago when Roger had asked the same thing. She smiled, shrugging.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

So when she had worked up the courage to invite the entire band to the premiere (on behalf of Spielberg, of course) she was a nervous wreck to find out they had accepted. Really, ask anyone who had any contact with her in the time from then to the premiere, they could testify that her moodiness had risen like a hot air balloon.

Now, though, she was kind of regretting that she had invited them, looking over to the sharp looking bunch, all dressed to the nines. She scanned her eyes over them, catching a wave from Brian, which she gladly returned with an enthusiastic smile. Bri then tapped Roger on the shoulder to alert him of Y/n’s acknowledgment, which resulted in Y/n’s eyes widening to the size of moons.

She turned her head, and worked to finish up her walk of the carpet just a tad bit faster. It all seemed to be for nothing, though, as in the dark of the theater for the premiere itself, she saw the seat next to her be filled, a presence filling her senses.

“Miss me?”

-

Their hands were all over each other, not truly caring if the tabloids caught a glimpse, just needing to make up for lost time.

They had stumbled into the golden hotel both her and Queen were staying in, the swinging doors of the New York establishment blowing a cool gust of wind in their direction.

They merely laughed at the minor interruption, their teeth clashing as they both smiled momentarily. It was soon forgotten, though, both of them having much more pressing matters in their minds.

They only came to a cease in the elevator, some old couple who most definitely did not care about whatever pressing issue the two of them felt they had, standing off to the side. (Y/n could swear she saw the older woman smirk and wink at her, to which she cocked her head and smiled.)

Once back into the safe confines of Y/n’s suite, they resumed like they had never even stopped, hands gravitating towards the others form as if they were opposite magnets, unable to be separated for too long.

“You’ve driven me crazy, you know that, right? “

She giggled and bit her lip, looking up into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together.

“Mmm? I’d hope so.”

He pulled away, shaking his head, blond locks following suit.

“Really, you have no idea. I haven’t been able to shake you from my head. You’re everywhere.”

Her excitement could barely be contained at his confession of sorts, chest heaving, trying to stay calm.

“Yeah, that was the plan.”

Roger shook his head with a dry chuckle, looking to his feet and back to her when she had tilted his head up, her finger resting on his jaw.

“Well, are you into it?” She questioned, grabbing his hand and pulling their clasped fingers in between their chests, her eyes hazy with hope.

“Yeah.” He titled his head, feigning a pondering look. “You could say I’m kinda into it.”

“Shut it!”

“Make me.”

She rolled her eyes at his stupidly provocative suggestion, and he only laughed, the two of them falling onto the plush comfort of the bed in a meshed flurry for the remainder of the night.

And if you couldn’t guess what could have possibly happened next, the black dress ended up in a pooled up pile next to the bed that night, right next to the heels that finally she had the pleasure of discarding.

The next morning, it was unlike the one 6 years ago, as when Roger woke up, he was overjoyed to find a sleeping Y/n, laying on his chest with hair splayed around her. And he had to say, he usually wasn’t much of a cuddler, but for some reason he felt so incredibly endeared, that anything else wouldn’t have sufficed.

He ran small circles on the exposed skin of her bare shoulder, the comforter concealing the rest of her limbs that were tangled up with Roger’s.

When she stirred, Roger sat up, fondly watching as her eyes fluttered open and her tongue ran across her dried lips, still carrying a hint of last night's red pigment. She looked next to her, her eyeline matching up with the covered skin of Roger’s lap.

She sighed, shifting her head to rest on his thighs as her feet dangled off of the bed. One of Roger’s hands came up to softly massage the top of her head, the other against the headboard, behind his neck. She stared at the ceiling, an unreadable expression creeping its way to her features.

“We were jacked up last night.” Roger’s voice cut through the silence they shared, deeper in the late morning than she had heard before.

“Correction, you were jacked up.”

“Whatever.”

They laughed, silence soon taking over once again. Roger sighed, closing his ever tired eyes.

��Are we gonna pay for this?”

She scoffed, inhaling deeply before reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing her carton of cigarettes. He noticed they were the same brand from college, a small smile making its way to his face at the thought.

She first lit hers, then lighting a second one for the man occupying her king sized bed (though she wasn’t even slightly upset by this, quite the opposite). She handed it to him, sticking her own between her lips and sitting up, straddling where her head had been minutes before.

She leaned forward, so close their noses were to the point where they were nearly touching. She took the cigarette from her lips, blowing the smoke to the left of Rog in the direction of the large balcony overlooking Times Square. She turned her attention back to him, though it had never really left, tilting her head.

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” The answer came immediately, no careful consideration or pondering needed.

“Right.” She removed herself from him, standing and taking the sheet with her, letting it cover her like a renaissance dress. She walked over to the balcony, leaning against the frame of the double doors. She took another drag, an adoring smile spreading across her face.

“Then there’s your answer.”

She paused, Roger tilted his head, his brows lifting.

“Of course we will.”

✺🎬✺

if u liked that hot mess pls like and rb!! mwah ily go eat protein and drink water if ur able. xx hj

[mianavs]

the meeting

In Lima with You part 1

a/n: sequel to Falling in Stockholm :) I also suggest reading the prologue, Fixation, for background info

tw: nsfw-ish

wc: 1.4k+

Falling in Stockholm  In Lima with You 

Warmth.

There was nothing you craved more than the warmth only another body could provide and Dabi was more than equipped in that department.

He gave you heat.

It filled you up and trickled down in excess. It clouded your mind and put you into a daze that left you incapable of coherent thought. It pressed against your skin until it burned and left marks all over it. Dabi’s heat was comforting until it turned painful, painful until it turned into pleasure, and pleasure always melted into a warmth that lingered for hours.

You opened your eyes to a stream of warm sunlight that painted your sheets a bright yellow. It’d been almost a month since Dabi moved you into this small condo after you gained his trust. Untangling your limbs from him with care, you swung your legs over the edge of your new bed and poured yourself a glass of water. You dug into your nightstand until you found the almost empty plastic sheet of small white pills and took one out. Ever since Dabi stopped injecting you with quirk inhibiters, he brought you some birth control and explained that the inhibiter had also been laced with contraceptives.

Your musings stopped when you heard a distinct low groan followed by disfigured hands that tugged you down into bed. Dabi’s face took over your field of view with his cold cerulean eyes, marred burgundy flesh, and little grey staples that held his face together. He was the picture-perfect definition of a monster but instead of screaming or fighting against him, you pressed a chaste kiss on his mouth before falling back onto your shared bed and looking at him with pure adoration—he was your savior after all.

“Good morning,” you greeted him with a shy smile.

Dabi’s mouth curled into a grin before bringing you into his arms and maneuvering your body so your back was pressed against his chest.

“Morning, beautiful,” Dabi slurred, his hot breath against your ear drawing out a gasp from your lips. “You’re running low on your pills aren’t you?”

You nodded wordlessly as Dabi’s hand snaked over your chest and started teasing your nipple.

“Good thing I got you some more,” he mused as he continued pinching and rubbing your hardening nub. “Even though it’d be nice to see you carrying my kid.”

The thought of carrying Dabi’s child sent a cold shiver down your spine as his other hand splayed against your bare stomach. You found the idea revolting and your body reacted accordingly. Then as quickly as the disgust came it left and panic replaced it when you remembered your painful re-education and the man who put you through it.

Dabi stopped his ministrations on your body and you knew he’d noticed your reaction. You held your breath waiting for the familiar pain from his quirk but his arms merely tightened their hold on you.

“Do you not want to have my kid?” He hissed sharply and you furiously shook your head.

“N-no! Of course I do, Dabi. I love you!” You cried and squeezed his hands for effect. “I just think we should w-wait until we accomplish the Mayor’s goal. Besides, I doubt Shigaraki would approve of me becoming pregnant.”

Your heart was in your throat as you waited for Dabi’s response praying your reasoning was enough justification for him.

“You’re right,” He mumbled nuzzling against your neck. “We need all the manpower we can get to bring down the heroes.”

Melting into his arms, Dabi started kissing down your neck while his hand traveled south to the apex between your legs. You shuddered remembering the intense sex from the night before but spread your legs anyway. He’d only started stroking your clit when his phone suddenly started vibrating. With a groan, Dabi’s hands left your trembling form and answered the call.

Just from the annoyed expression on his face, you could tell it was your leader, Tomura Shigaraki, on the other end. They exchanged a few words but Dabi’s eyes shifted to you halfway through the call. The warry expression in his haunting eyes put you on edge as you wondered what Shigaraki had told him to make him react that way.

“Get ready,” Dabi stated as he hung up on your boss. “There’s a meeting today and the boss wants you there.”

Shigaraki didn’t trust you and, as a result, few members of the league did.

He told you so himself during your first meeting with him. It’d been just the two of you in his office to Dabi’s displeasure but there was nothing he could’ve done—Shigaraki was the boss after all. It was in that dingy office where Shigaraki gripped your neck with four fingers while his thumb lingered over your pulse point.

“As a former hero, you’ll have to work that much harder, Y/N.”

Ever since that exchange, you were always cautious around him. During the few missions you went on with the league, you protected Shigaraki as best as you could alongside Kurogiri. You risked your life time and time again to keep him safe but only so you could return to Dabi. Shigaraki was merely an annoyance you had to deal with until the Mayor’s objective was complete. The disgruntled man-child could drop dead afterwards for all you cared.

What you cared about was Dabi and his trust in you. It was your lifeline and without it you were as good as dead. So as you walked closely behind your savior into the dark compound of the League of Villains, apprehension ate away at your composure as Dabi’s cold gaze remained imprinted in your mind.

Your gut told you this wasn’t a regular meeting when you walked past the other members whose faces were darkened with a negative emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. The tension in the air was suffocating but you continued walking until Dabi stopped in front of Shigaraki and another person you never thought you’d see again.

Keigo Takami stood calm and collected next to Shigaraki while you felt as if you were going to pass out. You stood frozen as your blood ran cold and all you could hear was your heart thumping erratically in your chest. When your eyes turned away from the red-winged hero, you noticed other pairs of eyes on you and watching with mixed emotions.

“HAH! Just look at her face!” Shigaraki sneered, taking a menacing step towards you. “Don’t tell me the two of you know each other.”

The question was more like an accusation and you wanted the earth to open and swallow you whole. You opened your mouth to speak but the words you desperately wanted to scream wouldn’t come out. Your eyes turned to the man next to you hoping he’d say something—anything—that would get Shigaraki off your case but Dabi’s eyes burned with anger as he stared you down.

That was when you realized that Dabi knew more than you’d hoped.

“Yes, I-we worked together once,” You stammered. “He’s practically the HPSC’s poster boy so I don’t get why he’s here.”

“To be a criminal like his dad. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, eh Takami?”

Dabi’s mouth contorted into a hideous smile as he stared at a surprised Keigo. You wracked your brain trying to remember a time when Keigo talked about his father but you only remembered hearing about his mother, Tomie.

Gold eyes flickered to you and your heart began to ache when you saw the hollow pain in Keigo’s eyes. It was a pain you were more than familiar with and, for a second, you wanted nothing more than to comfort your old friend.

Just when you were about to take a step towards Keigo, a deformed hand gripped your own and held it in a crushing grip. You gasped but didn’t fight it when you saw the bone-chilling expression on Dabi’s face. To anyone else watching, he looked amused but his painful grip and clenched jaw were dead giveaways to the fury the burned within him.

“Since you brought him in and your little pet is oh-so well-acquainted with him, you’re in charge of watching over him, Dabi.” Shigaraki stated as he sauntered over in front of Dabi. “So if he ever betrays us it’ll be on you.”

He spoke to Dabi but his scarlet eyes remained fixed on you making the meaning behind his word’s crystal clear—he’d punish Dabi by eliminating you first.

[ahsxual]

Unbreakable Connection

Pairing: L!Joker x reader

Summary: You and J met each other coincidently and now, after a few months, you somehow managed to become really close friends.

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1,8k

A/N: Soo this is a request from lovely @heavymetalnarwhal where J and the reader have a platonic relationship. They've become close friends after they accidentally met. J has grown and now he trusts her, her home eventually becoming his haven and in return, the reader can finally have someone trustful to talk to, and someone who can understand her and be there when she needs him most. So darling, I hope you enjoy this! <3

(I don't own this gif!)

On a specific day, you were in the mood for a night walk: after all, you weren't having a good day, so you thought that this was the best thing to do to get away from your haunting thoughts;

Your usual way of relaxing is staying at home while watching some movie, reading some book, listening to music... but that particular day you just wanted to do something different, what lead you to something you would never expect to happen...

While you were walking into some empty and narrow street near a port, you heard some uncommon noises... more specifically from people talking and moving heavy objects hurriedly, you supposed;

You were about to return to your home when you heard them, but since you weren't in a hurry, you let your curiosity take the best of you;

Oh, how simple choices like this could origin such a drastical change in your life...

You hide yourself behind a corner, where you could see what seemed like ten people moving huge boxes with a "caution" warning on it into a truck, all of them covered in familiar masks;

When you were about to remember where those masks were from, you suddenly saw the one and only prince of crime of Gotham city: the Joker, jumping outside of the high truck into the ground effortlessly;

You covered your mouth after releasing a loud gasp unintentionally, earning suspicious glances from some masked men... or should you say women?

The Joker has women working for him too?? you thought, surprised by that fact.

After that, you started to run as fast as you could to your house, concluding that you had seen enough;

Little did you know that the psychotic clown saw you from afar, following you discretely after, while his goons continued to work;

When you got home, you went to bed and tried to sleep, thinking on how bad and strange that day was;

Since then, everyday you had the feeling that someone was following you, which obviously made you terrified. You thought about calling the police, but what if all of this was just your mind tricking you? What if you made yourself sound like a fool in front of the authority, wasting your time only to get to see them laughing at you afterwards? Yup, that's how Gotham police worked... and it was completely not worth it;

When you got home and finally managed to calm yourself down, you opened the door and instinctively screamed once you saw the most wanted psychopath in the city, chilling out on your sofa like he was in his own house;

"W-what are you d-doing here??" you asked, trembling, shaking from the inside out of your vulnerable body towards his presence;

"Oh, you arrived! I ah... just couldn't wait to finally meet the ah... little kitten who was picking at what she... shouldn't. But curiosity sometimes it's stronger than our own safety, isn't that right, huh?" he calmly, yet dangerously said, getting up from the couch to approach you slowly. You had nowhere to escape: you knew if you tried, he would kill you right then and there, and you wanted to do whatever was needed to stay alive just for a few more seconds;

"P-please, don't k-kill me...!" those words were the only ones that could came out of your quivering mouth by your frightened mind.

He looked at you disappointed, however he wanted to ask you something that he didn't understand just yet. "How... all of you are so... predictable. <Please, don't kill me!!>... Really? That's all ya have to say in your defense doll, huh?" he tried to imitate a little girl begging for mercy, which would make you laugh if you weren't on the that exact position.

"I-I guess if you were me, you would s-say the same thing. I... I don't k-know what else to say to you..." really? Were you really justifying yourself and trying to have a decent conversation with Joker?? He then stared at you intensely for a few moments, like he was analyzing you.

"Well, I guess I have to ah.. agree with ya on that one." he said. "But I didn't come here to ah... have a chat while drinking hot tea with ya. I actually wanted to ah... ask ya something."

"W-what is it?" even if you tried, you couldn't stop yourself from stuttering every time you spoke.

"Why didn't ya tell anything to the men that eat donuts 24/7 with a pistol in their ass pockets, the so called heroes of this city about ah... what you saw the other night, huh? If ya had reported me, I would probably be in jail right now instead of having this little... shitty chat with ya." even you didn't know the real reason, if you were honest. Maybe you thought this city was already fucked up, so what's the point in trying to arrest him when there’re many killers, thieves, and who knows what out there? You're just trying to live a quiet life... and if you did denounce him, you probably would be his next brutal victim once he lays his eyes on you again;

"I-I don't know... I just... want to live a quiet life. Let's be realistic: you probably would get out of the prison soon, so... it wouldn't make any difference, I guess..." this time you managed to speak without stuttering so much, which impressed you. He seemed thoughtful about your answer: he was good at reading people, and you didn't seem the kind of person that just wants to live their life in the best way possible, only caring about money and fame, not giving a shit about others. You have your own world, your own perspective of life, your own space without bothering anyone, and he admires that;

He could tell you're a shy and introverted person, not having anyone truthful enough to really talk about what happened... and Joker liked that fact.

From that, he already could tell that maybe you were someone to trust... and that's what he was about to find out;

After that, he nodded, telling you there was a chance of him coming back, since he got interested in your way of being. He decided to spare your life since you didn't report him, making you feel utterly relieved for not telling anything to the police or anyone;

Days passed and he wouldn’t show up like he said, and if you were honest, you actually missed him: you didn't have any romantic intentions with him, no no no, yet you thought maybe he could understand you... and accept you, finally valuing your worth and see you for who you are, without judging or offering rude side glances like most people do.That's when once again, he managed to impress you.

"Ta-daa!" he loudly exclaimed, making you jump from your secretary.

"What the hell?!" you exclaimed back, angry ‘cause he scared you by coming out of nowhere... again. "What are you doing here Joker??" calling for his name sounded strange... yet familiar, like you already knew him for a long time;

"Ah... from what I remember, I said I would come back. Soo here I am!" he then laid down caressly on your fresh-made bed. "Ohh this one's good! How much ah... did it cost, huh?" he said happily, finally having a comfortable bed to lay on instead of the rigid ground where he uses to sleep... when he can sleep.

You were speechless, him being completely at ease, but you decided to respond him. "Uh... it cost around 600 dollars. I saved a lot of money to buy it, so please be careful." suddenly, he started to laugh at you, like you said the funniest joke he ever heard.

"600 dollars?? Are ya kidding? Ya could just have stole it! And there would be so much fun and adrenaline on it as an extra!" he admitted excitedly, sounding like a kid who had the greatest idea about something random.

"Well, I'm not an expert thief like you. And I prefer to be humble and pay for it, thanks but no thanks." you answered, returning to do whatever you were doing previously before he unexpectedly entered your room.

"Oh... humility. Where does that lead us to, huh? To people getting whatever they want from us? Playing us like their little toys? Thanks, but no thanks." he imitated you casually with his arms resting under his fade green painted hair, which made you laugh this time since, somehow, you didn't feel scared of him anymore.

From that day on, he would visit you almost every day: firstly you felt like he was using you just to get a place to sleep and to properly eat: he has people working and doing anything for him, so why would he need you? Some common girl who's life isn't that interesting? You sadly thought. But with time, you could see he actually enjoys your company;

You would even tell him your problems, when a day went wrong or someone would bother you... and in that case, the next day that same person wouldn't be alive to tell the story. You thought strange at first, not knowing why everytime someone was mean and rude to you, they wouldn't be alive the next day. But then you put all the pieces together... so from that moment you stopped telling him when someone messed with you, unless it was really necessary and serious;

Sometimes you would tell him he was your guardian angel, to which he made a disgusted expression, making you correct yourself to "guardian demon";

"That sounds so much better, sweet cheeks." he said before winking at you. Every time he did that, you would blush furiously and hide your hot face, since you were a very shy and timid person, specially around him for some reason. He loved teasing you just to see you embarrassed, but of course he respected you, so he never crossed the line;

And all of this leads to now, where J is practically considered your weird best friend, the one you tell everything, the one you can truly trust and ironically, feel safe. If you only knew that one simple walk would make all of this happen... how funny life can be, putting two completely opposite people together and create this unbreakable connection between you two... like they always say, it's just destiny doing his work.

[kirishwima]

8 For the soulmate prompts with Jumin please ♥️♥️♥️

8. You can feel what your soulmate is feeling (and vise versa). oooh i love the potential of this one >:) and if there was a world where soulmates existed, i think id want it to be either this or the ‘what u write appears on their skin’ lmao

* “Jumin is a heartless monster”, women cry after being rejected by him, gossiping amongst themselves  at parties, their glossed lips dripping lipstick-tinted venom

* “He’s a robot”, people who work in C&R whisper to each other, their hearts stilling whenever they see Jumin Han walk down the hall, not sparing a glance their way.

* Even Jaehee, the one who spends the most time by his side, frequently looks to him with a frown, wondering to herself if he’s even human.

* Yet Jumin...Jumin’s as human as can be.

* It started when he’d first started working for his fathers company, when he was still learning the ropes, the thin line of his lips a facade more than anything, years of practice moulding him into the perfect statue, his emotions boiling just beneath the surface.

* He’d been shadowing his father in a meeting, learning how to handle fussy clients and spoiled buisness-owners, when he felt his chest grow heavy, a feeling far too familiar overtaking him...only it was to an extent he’d never known before, his eyes glossy, a familiar sting as he furiously rubbed at them, willing it all to stop, just stop-not now, not here-

* His dad was the first to notice, startled at his sons’ sudden outburst-it was the first time he’d seen Jumin cry, the sight unfamiliar to him. Yet he loved his son-he’d never let him cry as he carried on buisness per usual.

* Mr. Han took Jumin out of the room and back into his office, offering him tissues and a glass of water as he continued to sob, mumbling curses as he begged the tears to stop.

* It took a while as he quieted down, the feeling mellowing down, Jumin feeling more drained and confused than ever before-what was that? Of course he’s felt upset before, far too many times to count in fact, but he’d never had such an outburst, and in that specific moment-there was nothing for him to be so upset over--

* “That must’ve been your soulmate” his dad offered, sitting across of Jumin, snapping him out of his trance.

* Jumin looked to his dad, dark eyes still glassy, reddened. “My...what?”

* His dad sighed, explained it all to him-how some people happen to have soulmates, how they can feel one another’s emotions if they’re extreme enough-it’s not every little thing, but extreme joy or pain or sadness-they could share these feelings, would feel them until they were replaced with something else, or until their soulmate felt something different, overpowering.

* Jumin let this new info mull over in his mind, spending the next few days with this sinking feeling in his chest-the tears didn’t come like before but he could still feel the sting, how his eyes felt heavy, and he knew, knew his soulmate must be laying awake at night, tears quietly falling down their cheeks-and that made his heart hurt even worse than this shared pain, the thought of being unable to comfort them, knowing they felt like this-

* He knows all too well what it’s like to feel this loss, this pain, to have no one to rely on. He knows what it’s like to go back into an empty home, have no one to share your pain with, to paint a semblance of normalcy in front of the ones you care about so as to not worry them.

* So Jumin decided. If a feeling that can overpower this is what’s needed for his soulmate to stop feeling pain, then he’d seek it out. He’d find joy like no other, for his soulmate’s sake.

* Yet...as hard as he tried, he couldn’t find it. He’d poured his soul into projects he thought could bring him joy, but he felt nothing, except perhaps a small sense of accomplishment, and fatigue. He spent countless hours watching cute cat videos, going through everything the Red Youtube Button had to recommend, but whilst he enjoyed them, he didn’t know if this is what it’s like to be overhwelmed.

* He eventually asked Rika about it-but she simply shook her head. “I do have a surprise for you” she admitted to him, “but I don’t know if it’ll be enough to make you that overjoyed.”

* The surprise came in the form of Elizabeth the 3d-and Jumin felt it, a warm happiness, a protectiveness towards the four-legged fluffy being, but was it enough for his soulmate to feel it? Judging by the pain in his chest...no, no it wasn’t.

* And then he lost Rika. 

* He knew his soulmate must feel it, the way his chest turned hollow, how his fists shook whenever anyone so much as mentioned her name, how he bit his cheek until it bled to keep from screaming, crying, breaking every fragile object in his way-to know how she died, what she’d done-to know how much of a wreck his only friend in the world was, and how he was unable to help him...

* Jumin stopped trying to find the joy he initially seeked, knowing it couldn’t be done. This, this empty feeling, paired with his soulmate’s pain-this was all he’d been left with. All he could ever feel.

* But as fate would have it, a mysterious figure soon entered his beloved RFA app...and his world turned less and less bleak, a genuine smile on his lips every time he’d see their name on his notifications, quick to enter the chatroom to talk with them.

* He could feel his soulmate’s pain soothing along with his, uncertain if it was his doing or their own-yet something brimed in him, a new-found warmth, so foreign yet welcome, the clenching of his stomach at the mere sight of their profile picture, at the sound of their voice on the phone-what was this feeling? 

* And...what was this guilt accompanying it? Why did he think of his soulmate every time he talked with MC, his joy turning thick and sour like spoilt milk?

* That all soon changed on the fateful day that his bodyguard came to him, a day after he locked up Elizabeth the 3d, the sight of her prison churning his gut something unpleasant, mentioning that ‘an MC is here to see you’-all thoughts of guilt flew out the window, replaced with-was it fear? Anxiety? Excitement?

* He wasn’t sure, not until he heard their footsteps as they approached him, saw their face up close-felt his heart scream out in joy, as if begging to climb out his chest to go nestle inbetween MC’s ribs, to make a home in them.

* “Ah” he hummed, smiling down at them “I see...I understand now” he walked up to them, brought a hand to their cheek, gently cradling them in his palm.

* “Welcome home” he said-and he could finally put a name on this confusion, on the fluttering of his chest, the frantic rhythm of his pulse.

****

did i go a little overboard? yeah maybe

does jumin deserve this and more? yeah absolutely mwah

-send me a headcanon for mysme character(s) reactions-

-check out my commission info in my bio if you’d like a full-fledged fic of your choosing!-

[dinosaurs-last-day]

Hi!! It’s the one and only Remile Anon popping in again! Life’s kinda hitting a rough patch again right now, but i’ll most likely be fine. Anyways, I wanted to ask if you’d mind writing some fluffy Remile today. Hope you’re having a good day! <3

Hey Nonnie! Of course I’ll write some fluffy Remile for you.

How about a short high school au? 

-----------------------------------------

Remy Sanders sat in art class, already having finished the assigned sketch project and sitting in silence. He was trying not to stare, but it’s hard when the guy sitting right in front of him was so damn attractive. Emile Pacani, the boy in front of him, was basically Remy’s dream boy. Emile was sweet and smart and really kind. And Remy was gay, really gay. He would have asked Emile out by now if he wasn’t so damn awkward around cute boys, and if he actually knew if Emile liked guys. 

Emile didn’t even notice that Remy was staring, he was busy with his art project. Art wasn’t Emile’s strong suit, despite what everyone thought. Emile, with his love for cartoons and storytelling, could barely hold a pencil. Remy watched as Emile furiously erased what he had drawn. He decided that today would be the day he actually had a conversation with Emile, even if it was just to give him some drawing tips.

“If you draw the lines lighter, you won’t have to erase so hard,” Remy said, slipping into the empty seat next to Emile. Emile looked over at Remy before going back to his art. 

“You’re probably right. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.” 

“Well, you’re not doing a terrible job, you just need to learn some tricks to make it better,” Remy said, grabbing his pencil and a sheet of paper. “Lemme show you.” He demonstrated a few things, different ways to hold the pencil and how to draw gently and erase so that the paper didn’t tear. Emile watched, eyes wide, soaking in every detail. 

“You’re really good,” Emile said. Remy felt his face turn hot, his mouth suddenly unable to form coherent words. He reminded himself that it was just a compliment, that he needed to get over his crush for a minute. 

“Um, thanks,” Remy finally said. Emile turned around and looked that Remy’s completed sketch. Remy suddenly became very aware of all the little mistakes he made on the drawing, but Emile didn’t seem to notice a single one of them.

“I think you’re the best artist in the class! I wish I could draw like that.” 

“Well, practice makes perfect and all that.” The words fell awkwardly off Remy’s lips. His face was still a bright shade of red and he wished that he could hide in his leather jacket. 

“You’re right, I need more practice!” Emile laughed. “I don’t want to make you feel obligated, so totally tell me if I crossed a line, but do you think you could teach me some more? Like, after school?” 

Hanging out with Emile after school was Remy’s dream, but he wasn’t about to admit it. 

“I’m sorry, that was a dumb thing to ask,” Emile apologized. Remy practically jumped out of his seat at the fear of losing his chance to spend more time with Emile. 

“No! I mean, of course I would like to teach you some stuff. Maybe you could come over to my place and I let you use some of my art supplies or something?” Emile’s face brightened as he agreed. 

“Oh, I don’t think I caught your name,” Emile said as the bell rang, signaling the end of class. 

“Um, it’s Remy.” 

“Well, thank you then Remy!”

~

Remy waited impatiently for Emile to arrive. He had given Emile his phone number and address right after art class and was anxiously pacing his families shed, which had been redesigned to serve as an art studio for Remy. 

Finally, he saw the other boy walking up the driveway and he practically ran over to greet him. 

“Hey! Thanks for doing this, it means a lot,” Emile said, following Remy to the shed. 

“It’s no problem. I can’t promise that I’ll make a good teacher, but I can try.” Remy opened the shed door and motioned for Emile to walk inside. When Emile got in, his jaw dropped a couple of inches as he took in the sight.

Remy had been allowed to paint the walls, and he had chosen to use chalk paint so that he could constantly doodle on them. There was one wall not painted with the chalk paint, and on it hung a bunch of Remy’s favorite art projects, the ones he was most proud of. Over the sketching desk hung a pride flag, and there were shelves full of paint and other art supplies. Emile looked around for a long minute, his eyes finally resting on the pride flag.

“You’re gay?” Emile asked. Remy’s brain suddenly started to panic. What if Emile was homophobic? Leave it to Remy to fall in love with that guy. He mumbled a yeah and was surprised to see Emile practically jump in excitement.

“I’m gay too! What are the odds? This is so cool!” Remy let out a silent sigh of relief, allowing himself to relax.

“So, what did you want me to teach you?” Remy asked. Emile thought for a moment.

“Maybe we can work on a simple painting project? I think that might be easy.” 

Remy laughed. “Painting isn’t as easy as people lead you to believe but sure! That sounds like fun!” He got out two easels and his favorite acrylics, setting everything up for Emile and answering any of Emile’s questions as he went along. 

Painting with Emile Pacani was probably the most fun Remy had ever had in a long time. The two laughed and joked, swapping different colors every once and a while. Remy had suggested that they started with something easy and Emile said that painting a butterfly sounded easy, so there they were, two butterflies on canvas. Finally, after they both had decided that they were finished, they stepped back to admire their work.

“Your butterfly is actually really good,” Remy noted. “You have an amazing eye for colors, it looks beautiful.” 

“My butterfly looks like a sad little moth compared to yours,” Emile said, earning a laugh from Remy. 

“Hey, don’t hate on moths. Mothman is my one true love,” Remy joked. As Remy cleaned up some of the paints, out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Emile go over to the desk and stare up at the pride flag. 

“You okay?” Remy asked, putting the easels back in their place in the corner of the shed. 

“I’m fine, just thinking.” Emile turned to face Remy. Remy noticed that a bit of paint had managed to find a home on Emile’s face. 

“You have some paint on your cheek,” Remy said, fighting the urge to reach up and wipe it away. Emile rubbed his cheek. “No, the other cheek.” 

“Could you wipe it off for me? I don’t want to miss it,” Emile said. Remy nodded and ran a towel over the paint. He was acutely aware of how close he was standing to Emile. He ran the towel over the cheek a second time, just in case he had missed some paint the first time, totally not because he didn’t want to move. 

Even though he was less than a foot away from Emile, he could barely make out what Emile was saying. Emile was barely speaking, just breathing out the words. “I really want to kiss you right now.” 

Neither one of them remember who initiated the kiss, just that they kissed, and it felt like magic. Remy held Emile’s face, he could feel Emile snake his arm around Remy’s waist and pull him closer. They stood there, kissing desperately, for what felt like the longest minute ever. When they broke away, Remy tried to pout from the lack of lips against his, but he couldn’t because he was too busy smiling like an idiot. 

“Remy, you’re very attractive,” Emile whispered, more audible this time but now his voice sounded slightly hoarse, probably from all the kissing. 

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a while now,” Remy admitted. 

Emile’s lips quirked into a mischievous smile as he pulled Remy close once again and they kissed, another long and breathless kiss. Remy felt like he had forgotten how to think, and that was fine. 

Finally, Emile let go of Remy, stepping back. Remy’s lips were slightly swollen, his hair messed up. Emile’s glasses hung crooked on his face. 

“I have to get going, I promised my mother I’d be home in time for dinner. Maybe tomorrow I can come back and you can teach me something new?” Emile asked, grabbing his stuff. Remy smiled.

“I’d love that.” 

[katsukikitten]

Hi! I was wondering if you could could do bakugo with a depressed and self-harming s/o? Shes trying so hard not to do but it was one of those days that the urge was almost impossible to ignore? Sorry if its too dark, i just feel this very mood rn. Sorry to bother you and i love your work ❤️💕

This would never bother me love. Please feel free to message me should you need me. You have my full support and I will always help you to my best abilities.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR SELF HARM PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IF YOU FEEL LIKE YOU'LL LOSE THE BATTLE. I KNOW YOU ARE STRONG YOU CAN DO THIS.

It sat on your shoulder, weighing down on your mind, body and soul. Wispy fingers digging into flesh as it peers over you too curious for it's own good.

It smiles a jagged tooth smile as it sees what has your heart and mind racing so erratically. It morphs all on it's own as you stare at the 34% written in blotchy red ink and it seems to whisper with a gravely voice.

*"Worthless."*

You twist at your skin on your forearms agitating old scars that burn to be reopened and picked over for the next few weeks. Your forearm reddens from the Indian burn you're giving yourself all the while your mind stays on a dark loop. Repeating things over and over as you try to understand this failing grade.

As you try to wrap your mind around how in the hell could this be your fifth one in a row.

You were going to fucking flunk, you were going to have to say good bye to your dreams, to all of your aspirations as a hero. You thought you might as well go back to the dorms and start packing now as you proved to yourself exactly what you've always known and exactly what it's always breathed down the nape of your neck.

*"Not good enough."*

The skin begins to bloom in blues and purples, much like a moody flower as you're absorbed in thought trying to break the cycle of it.

Trying to ignore the call of old burns on your ribs from your friends curling iron, trying so damn hard to not hear that the school is teaming with sharp objects to slice yourself with.

So absorbed really that you do not hear the bell dismissing school, only the rushing blood in your ears.

Oblivious to the burning eyes that watch your hand work, that have seen the scars in training but would never be shameless enough to ask.

He figured it out quickly, noticing with deft eyes the neatly set rows of dated scars, of their organization and as far as he knew you had never been captured.

A strong hand wraps around the wrist that has been twisting the past hour.

"Enough. It's just a grade. I'll help you study." All biting voice as his vice grip dies down. He has your backpack on what is normally his free shoulder. You blush furiously, feeling shame heat your cheeks as you hadn't realized you were being so obvious.

"Let's go Y/LN!" He shouts now from the door trying to keep the bite out of his voice.

He fails as the chair scrapes against the cold linoleum. He bites his lip waiting for you to fall into step.

The walk home is silent and awkward at best. Embarrassment creeps in reddish hues onto your cheeks as you think of who else may have seen you.

Who else noticed your unstable mind and insecure actions?

The thought has you subconsciously twisting again as thoughts swirl faster and faster as they think of what will relieve the tension.

Did you have any more razors? Surely one of the girls did, if not the corner store.

But did you have the extra cash?

As you rack your brain for either a hidden stash of instruments or cash it hits you. You had that lighter your stole ages ago. It only took 70 seconds for a burn to form. 70 agonizingly lovely seconds for your skin to warp and bubble until the pain was so numbing you felt your body go slack. Your brain finally giving you endorphins you so thoroughly craved.

And the best part about a burn is that it would hurt for weeks after, and especially so any time you introduced it to hear. Skin jaded from its previous encounter with unpleasantly warm.

Just as your nails begin to break skin a calloused hand has gripped your wrist once more. Hand slipping into yours while intertwining fingers in a bone crushing grip.

"Whatever it is you're thinking. You better not." Its a threat that actually scares you.

How had he read your mind? You swallow thickly while trying not to look any more suspicious under his exceptionaly watchful eye.

Once the two of you reach the dorm he squeezes your hand tightly, slipping your back onto your shoulder before growling in your ear.

"Whenever you feel...down you come to me." His voice is darker than you've ever heard before he lets go of your hand waltzing into the dorms.

Days pass with the single thought of painful released flooding your system.

Anytime you reached for your lighter you thought of burning red eyes.

Of the wraith that would be looming in them.

Of the disappointment.

You gulp down air as you try to fight it especially now that the inanimate object seems to have gained a voice.

A voice that echos what the wispy black beast that hangs onto your back screams in your ear.

*"Do it. Do it. DO IT!"*

It said it every time you were in the shower and around razor heads lying around, screeched when it saw the sharp edge of a broken tile in the bathroom. It yelled it during practice as you watched Todoroki's flame lick greedily at the ground, at the walls of the fake city.

Dancing in the sunlight as if it were a savior, calling out to be caressed as the paint beneath bubbled and warped.

Your fingers had reached out. Had begun to feel the heat.

Until you were so selfishly ripped away by strong hands and heated scarlet eyes.

Shoving you to continue the mission.

It took on new words now as you reached for your box in your closet. Taking down the black shoe box of sad poems and long forgotten notes from long forgotten friends.

And as you stare down at the scratched chrome rectangle, flopping open the top.

You still hear that magical sound of sloshing butane. Now you just have to hope the flint is still good. Hesitation seizes your muscles as your thumb rests on the steel wheel, is this really such a good idea?

Think of all of the people who abandoned you when they found out.

Think of the hurt shining in your parents eyes when they saw the scars littering your body, wondering what they did to make you so unhappy.

Think of how you only feel smaller when you do it.

You're about put it away, seal it back in its black converse labeled coffin when that wispy small thought you'd tried so hard to talk over is finally heard.

*"But think of how good it feels in the moment."*

With that your thumb comes fully down, the flint sparks igniting the soaked wick that now dances in the comfort of your room.

Singing its praises, asking you to come closer for a reward.

You listen, bringing your hand down slowly over the lit lighter, as the heat turns from pleasantly warm to Redding burn.

Closer still you push your palm until your skin is in the flame. Silently ticking by the seconds.

35 have passed as you're halfway there, the smell of skin is staring to waft onto the air as your skin has already become distorted, discolored as the flames lovingly leave your with a heated numbness.

At least for now.

A knock comes at the door, earning you a small yelp. Suddenly the fire has become hot, burning as you flick closed the top and drop the lighter.

"J..just a minute." You call out starring at your palm gripping at your wrist.

"Hurry up. We don't have much time to study before bed. Your retake is in two days." His voice comes out gruff starling you even more.

You hadn't asked for Bakugou's help, so why was the hot head barking on the other side of your door.

Shit.

This was getting worse by the second. With nothing to wrap your hand it you tell yourself you'll be able to hide it as you reach for the doorknob. Causing a pain to shoot from your hand all the way up to your shoulder as you force the fried nerves onto a cool surface. Twisting as you go.

Maybe it wasn't your best idea to use it on your dominate hand.

But what's done is done.

"We c...can go to the common room and study." You suggest but barges himself in anyway standing just inside your door as he thinks of the best way to avoid the landmine of clothes and books scatter across the hardwood.

"Too loud." He dismisses finding the perfect path to your desk.

The perfect path that has his boot toeing the lighter. Causing it to skid into his sight. He leans over to pick it up, feeling the warmth coming from it and finally placing the odd smell that lingers in your room.

He glares over his shoulder as your heart pounds in your throat, causing a lump to form as you see what you told yourself was going to be there.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Especially so with how neatly he sets down the test materials, stepping with precise foot steps before he stands in front of you.

Heated sugar begins to flood the room before a few uncontrolled pops ring our over his shoulders and forearms.

"What's this?" He asks calmly which scares you more than anything and when you cannot answer he notices you hiding your dominate hand.

"N..n..nothing Bakugou. I...I found it on campus and thought it looked cool. I wanted to..to keep it." You stumble with frayed nerves as you avoid his eyes, telling a half truth. You do collect odd things that you find. Thinking they bring you fortune and you did find the zippo on campus, just not this one.

He looks you over debating before he grits his teeth. Hand causing the lighter to explode.

"And then you lie to me." He comes out dark, rubbing you the wrong way as you think of all the other faces his match right now.

As you remember that they gave you their backs becoming nothing more than memories and empty promises immortalized on line paper that rots in a coffin made of a black converse box.

You cannot stop the tears as you fall to the floor. Crying loudly and openly, large droplets raining down onto your shirt and the hard wood floor.

Bakugou's own heart lodges in his throat as he stares down at you.

Per the usual fucking up how you're supposed to react.

This wasn't supportive like the internet had said. Nor was it loving.

Hell, if anything this was the exact opposite of what was advised to do. And here he stood losing his temper over something you clearly struggled with.

The worst part to him was that there was nothing he could do to change this, to alter how you feel. To stop you all together and force you into a different, more healthy coping mechanism.

No all he could was watch from the sidelines.

And Bakugou Katsuki was a starter.

He sighs sinking to his knees pulling you into him as you stain his pressed shirt. Dampen it until nothing else comes out and the numbness begins to set in.

All the while he smooths down your hair and let's his hand travel down your back in a loving warm touch. When he thinks you are done he pushes you away so he can stare into your gorgeous eyes and admits what he never thought he would.

"I can't fix this for you. I can't take it away. I cant fight it off. Kiss it away. Fuck it away. Or rip the urge from your body." He squeezes your shoulders tightly, "Only you can do that."

The two of you stay quiet as you realize the weight of his words.

"You're the only one strong enough to fight this. I can support you, I can be a shoulder to cry on, a punching bag whatever. But I can't fucking fix this for you." Another pop from his shoulders before he let's out a shaking sigh, "But I sure as fuck believe in you. You stopped once. You can stop again. As long as you keep getting back up Y/N it doesn't matter that you *ever* fell. So please....please let me help you. Let me be that shoulder, that punching back. That void you vent to."

More tears glisten in your eyes as he kisses your forehead, he pulls you back into another death grip hug, voice threatening to crack as he adds.

"Please let me help you kick this things ass."

[likehoneyandsilk]

Alps

Listen as you read.

“How did we end up like this?” His morning voice always sparked a flame in your stomach. Raspy and hoarse, masculine and every word dripping with sleep. Your breath hitches your throat when Mat hovers his body above yours. The chain around his neck dangling, the small pendant resting atop your neck.

An unruly mess of dark brown hair sat atop his head, your fingers tingling to emerge them through the silky strands. His dark eyes stared into your soul, searching you for an answer. You remained quiet, letting his eyes burn into you, allowing him to sigh in defeat. Letting him rest his body atop yours ever so gently, his lips pressed into the crook of your neck. The only thing between the two of you was the thin comforter and his dress shirt from the night before buttoned around your frame.

Hesitantly, your fingers danced through his silky strands. In response, Mat’s hip softly pressed against yours. “Did you feel it to?” His voice was quiet, the words murmured into the soft skin of your neck. You gulped, closing your eyes and choosing not to speak. 

You worried if you did, your voice might break. Like your broken heart. And his.

. . .

When the wedding invitation arrived in the mail a month ago you were not surprised. Julie, Anthony’s fiancé, and one of your closets friends was getting married. You knew Anthony through Mat and had met Julie not long after. You remember your fingers tracing over the cursive glossy writing of Julie’s name, knowing very well your trip to New York wouldn’t be easy. And it hadn’t. But you would do anything for Julie and Anthony.

And now as you sat alone at your table, a half empty glass of sparkling bubbly champagne, you watched your two friends with a tired smile. The newly weds swayed back and forth, lost in their own beautiful little world. They didn’t notice the other wedding guests, all united and swaying to the slow song playing from the record player in the corner of the barn. The barn lights twinkled above all, casting a fairytale glow.

The weekend had been bittersweet. You’d flown in a day before the wedding festivities, your ticket back home booked for tomorrow evening. It was almost surreal seeing all your old friends in Long Island. And it wasn’t easy avoiding a particular someone. Someone you had an extensive history with, gone above and beyond with and called yours.

The past hours had been spent sneaking glances at him, worried he’d catch you. Pretending that it didn’t hurt you to see him again. Portray a strong front that stated “I don’t feel that way about him anymore.” You ignored the flutter in your heart every time he smiled, refused to look in his direction at the sound of his laugh. You pretended not to notice that it wasn’t same as before. Truth was, when you had stepped out of the cab and the first person to open the cabin door had been Mat, you were speechless, tears already brimming in the corners of your eyes, leaving him speechless as well. He knew you would be there, without a doubt, but he hadn’t processed how hard it would be seeing you again. Julie had saved you then, pulling you in for a hug at the sight of you. 

Stealing another glance at him cross the barn, your heart dropped. His dark eyes bore into yours from far, his lips curling into a small smile. A smile that was apologetic. He watched as you blinked a few times, biting your lip and rose suddenly. This was too much.

You waltzed through the tables, blinking back tears furiously. Your chest felt heavy; heart pounding and your mind foggy. Using all your strength to push through the barn doors, you gasped for air at the sight of the moon. Sighing, you settled onto a stack of hay, the Summer night cold settled onto your bare arms and legs.

Your head sprung up as someone pushed through the barn doors. Mat appeared before you, stopping in his tracks. This was the closest he’d been to you since the first day. He didn’t speak, and neither did you. You slowly regained your thoughts. He was here. He was here. He was here. He released the barn door behind him, letting it shut with a thud. Cautiously he made his way next to you, sitting down a few inches away. Your hand resting atop the hay was only a few inches away from his, and your first instinct was the let the tips of your digits touch his.

“Hi” Mat turned his head to look at you, his voice enveloping you in a warmth like it always did. The hair at the back of your neck stood, meeting his eyes again. “Hi” you whispered, letting yourself smile softly, to match his. You were already becoming vulnerable. 

The silence fell over you again. And so you took this time to take the sight of him in. Suited in a navy blue suit, a crisp white dress shirt beneath garnished with a solid black tie. He seemed bigger and broader. His dark hair as soft and silky as before, neatly styled. His lips pink underneath the moonlight.

He let his eyes roam from your face and down. Your long hair, resting to one side of your face, was losing its curls, having been perfectly curled from the morning when he first saw you arrive as a bridesmaid. Your big eyes seemed a little tired, your plump lips as rosy as ever. Julie had chose olive green chiffon dresses for her bridesmaid, and he couldn’t help but notice how absolutely stunning you appeared all night. He would be lying if he hadn’t been trying to get you alone, to speak to you in some way and hear your voice again. You were avoiding him, he knew, but he didn’t blame you.

“How have you been?” The question rested heavily on your shoulders, and your thoughts began to race. The last three months have felt lonelier than ever. When you had moved back to Vancouver you imagined it would feel like it always did. Like home, but truthfully home was where he was. And you’d left him in New York, alone in your tiny apartment, where pictures of your love story hung on the walls, a bitter reminder of what he let slip out of his hands that brutal Sunday morning.

You couldn’t lie to Mat. Never. He knew you inside and out like a book. That was the result of a friendship since you were 9, and the beginning of your love story at the age of 16. You still remembered the smile on his voice when he picked you up for your first ever date. Honesty was your only option.

You felt a lump form in your throat. Focusing your eyes onto the green grass beneath you, your nude glossy heels, with your pink painted toes peeking out. Your arms wrapped around your frame. Why was speaking to someone you had known practically your whole life unexplainably hard right now?

“It hasn’t been easy” the words were heavy, Mat’s heart sinking when he saw you wipe a tear from your eye. He never liked seeing you cry, and it broke him when he was the reason behind your painful tears. “It isn’t easy at all Mat!” you shook your head, returning your eyes to him.

He was broken. His eyes full of regret and his bottom lip jut out slightly. The Summer cold felt like a layer on your skin, the silver stream of light from the moon above you painting you.

“Hasn’t been easy for me either.” It hadn’t and it was evident. You’d heard the stories of how Mat Barzal, star player of the Islanders seemed to be quiet in his game. Less goals in the past few games, even fewer assists. He wasn’t the same Barzal that Long Island knew. He no longer possessed the boisterous laugh, nor the cheeky smile. This Barzal was different. One that was missing a piece of him; that being you.

“Did you see anyone ...” “No, no ... I would never do ...” he shook his head angrily, almost bewildered that you had even possibly asked the question. “I can’t. And I don’t want to.” His eyebrows furrowed, as he turned his head to look straight ahead. His jaw clenched. If you were still together you would hold his hand in yours, and kiss his knuckles, calming him down slowly, murmuring words of encouragement. But he wasn’t yours, and you couldn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Your apology was faint, the heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment and shame. “I shouldn’t have just asked assuming ...” Mat unclenches his jaw, his face softening when his eyes met yours.

“No, no it’s alright. You don’t have to apologize.” His hand rested atop yours suddenly, and you felt electricity surge through your body. He waited for you to pull back, searching for rejection in your eyes . But when you didn’t he let his hand cover your colder one, watching as your cheeks turned pink.

“What happened to us?” It was a question you both had asked yourselves many times. It was a question that haunted you at 3:00 am, a question that popped up in his head during a breakaway with the puck. A question that you asked yourself at the first sound of his name, the question he asked when he walked past the picture of you two at his bedside, one he wasn’t ready to put away.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you held back tears. Mat shuffled next to you, pulling his hand away. Your head snapped in his direction, missing the warmth and familiarity of his hand. He’d removed his coat, placing it around your shoulders. You protested, but he declined, resting his hand back atop yours. “You’re always cold.” He chuckled softly. Moonlight danced across his prominent features, radiating him in his white shirt. 

Suddenly all control was lost. His coat around your shoulders smelt like him, warm, musky and pine. His hand rested atop yours and it felt right. For the first time in three months you felt warm, accompanied and like yourself. This felt like home. And as the tears began to fall from your eyes, and you rose suddenly, he was quick to follow.

“We were so in love we fell apart!” He brought his hands up to rest along your wet cheeks. His thumbs wiping at your tears. “And when we fell apart we couldn’t put the pieces back together. Because it hurt so much …” your voice cracked cutting you off as you stepped closer to him, afraid of what might happen next. Your heavy heart needed to let out the pain, the broken pieces had to be attained, you needed yourself back. You needed closure or reconstruction.

“... we hurt one another so much, we let it all go. All of it.” Your whispered words were barely audible over the music inside the barn. Mat’s own cheeks lined with tears. A sad and somber look on his face. You stared blankly at the ground, catching your breath. His hands dropped, one of them under your chin and the other resting on your side.

“I’ve got you, I’m here now” his voice cracked with every word, in an effort to calm you. Gingerly you allowed your eyes to meet his, your hands shaking as you wiped at his tears. “I’m sorry I gave up on us.” “You weren’t the only one” your voice remorseful. He gently pulled you in, craving the feeling of your body against his. As you leaned into him, your head colliding with his chest, his arms securing around you, your own wrapping around him, his chin resting atop your head, this felt like home.

His thumb rubbed soothing patterns into your hair, murmuring apology after apology. He held you for a while, swaying you back and forth from the music that could be heard on the other side of the door. Your eyes closed in the most peace you had received within yourself, however a pit still in your stomach, knowing very well this could end in many ways.

Pulling yourselves apart Mat still held onto your waist and neck. His eyes searched for validation and consent. “Can I kiss you?” Could he? Should you let him, even though you truly wanted him to? Could a kiss lead to anything more?

You nodded slowly, closing your eyes when he began to lean in, waiting impatiently for his lips to mold against yours. And they did, butterflies erupting in your stomach. Your insides tingled, blood rising and your legs felt wobbly. Your small hands cascaded around his hips, permitting your body to press against his. He was slow and delicate, tasting like champagne and icing. The kiss felt familiar, as it should. It had been the only lips you’d ever kissed. The only lips you’d allow to explore the skin on your body. The only lips that had felt all of you.

“I’m still in love with you. I never stopped.” His lips lingered against yours, his words truthful. His nose brushed against yours, waiting for you to speak. Waiting for you to give your answer, yearning to know what would happen next. You thought you would never hear those words fall from his lips again. But they did. And you were very much in love with him, never stopped nor doubted.

“I love you, I never stopped. I don’t think I ever can.” Your confession was all it took, all that was needed for the two of you to forget what you wanted to. At least for one night you could allow yourselves to merge as one, give your entirety to the other and become vulnerable again as you had now. It wasn’t sure what the morning held or what would be done, but in this moment it was an exploration and rekindling of love. A desperation that was a craving, to be loved, kissed, held, touched, roused and given to and by the one you loved the most. 

You followed him hand in hand towards you tiny cabin. Your hands shook as you  twisted the knob, turning the lights on, letting the smell of wood and leftover coffee roam around you. Mat locked the door behind you, gently sliding the coat down your arms from behind you. Your insides tingled, craving the familiarity of his skin against yours, the sensation of his lips on your skin, and the climatic surge of love he got out of you. Without a word you lead the way upstairs, him following behind. 

Reaching your bedroom you turned to face him. His strong arms placed you atop the vanity, the granite wood cold through the chiffon material of your dress. You relaxed as his lips pressed against yours, his fingers holding your jaw in place. Your nimble fingers worked there way through his tie, proceeding to the buttons of his dress shirt. He was slow and steady, kissing you as if warming you up, devouring the taste of champagne and cherry Chapstick. Lips parted as you pulled back, breathless and tinged rosy cheeks. He leaned into you, your legs tightening around his as you guided the sleeves of his shirt down his arms, exposing the broad and firm frame you knew so well. 

Pulling you off the vanity, he guiding you towards the bed, simultaneously pulling down the zipper of your dress. His lustful eyes bore in yours, a sad smile on his lips before he brushed them atop yours. The back of your knees hit the foot of the bed, and lay you gently below him, revealing the body he knew so well beneath him. Silk sheets raveled you in as his lips began to kiss you lips, and all other parts of your skin, his hips pressing into yours. The Summer rain began outside as the wedding party continued to celebrate. Your small moans and whimpers filled the room, your names slipping out of each others mouths, murmurs of love and apologies brushed past your lips. Mat was gentle, taking time as he merged his body with yours, almost as if you were a feather, and you’d slip away from him before his eyes again. 

. . . 

The rain had continued over night, pattering against your window. You turned to look over at the time, the clock reading 9:15 in the morning. Mat pressed his lips against your neck, his silky strands tickling your skin. “It felt right to me. I felt like myself. It felt like home” he pulled himself off you, laying next to you. He searched your eyes for a reaction, as he poured his heart out to you. You stared at him above, turning on your side. 

“I felt it too.” you confessed, pressing your hand into his cheek. He leaning into your touch, his eyes closing. “Then why do I have bad feeling about what you’re about to say next?” Heart break all over again. He knew you well, he always had and always would, Home was where he was, but somethings were better left untouched. And after today, after this weekend, fear was stronger than any emotion you felt. 

“We’re going to hurt each other. If we fall apart . . . “ your voice cracked, tears slipping through your sleepy eyes. “You don't know that unless we try again!” he was hurt, angry, and broken. “How can you say that if we don't try?” “Mat, I’m scared to. I can't put us through it again, we’ll end up hurting each other.” You pulled away, rushing to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you, falling to the ground. Sobbing and hurting. unable to give in. Quickly you unbuttoned your shirt off your body, a piece of you feeling lost as you opened the door softly and let it drop to the ground. The lacey garments adorned in your intimate spots left you cold. 

He lay motionless on the bed, covered in silk sheets that smelt like you, a scent he missed. He was losing you again. You were slipping from his fingers. It was happening all over again. Your quiet sobs compelled him to push through the door and hold you, comfort you and tell you he loved you. But there was not getting through you now, you were long gone. 

He dressed with a heavy heart, not bothering to wipe his own tears. As he approached the bathroom door, reaching for the shirt he paused. “I love you, And I’m going to wait for you. As long as it takes.” your ear pressed against the door on the other side heard him loud and clear. You wanted to say you loved him too, tell him how much he meant to you, but you couldn’t. You needed to let him go. 

And when the front door shut behind him, loud and hard, you imagined his furrowed eyebrows, jaw clenched and angry pursed lip. You broke him once, and you did it again. It was time to pack up and go, before it was too late, before you could cause anymore heartbreak. 

As Mat rushed through the rain from your cabin to his, Anthony watched his friend from his own window, sighing in defeat. 

A few hours later as you cab pulled up and your Long Island friends lined up to bid you goodbye, Mat stayed far back, waiting by the cab. As you passed through each member, hugging them with a sad smile, you knew that Julie and Anthony would have something to say. Julie’s blue eyes were sad, her smile soft. “I’m going to miss you” she whispered, pulling you in for a hug. “I’m going to miss you too” you gulped, squeezing her tightly. You smiled as you moved to Anthony, whose expression was apologetic and sorrow. 

He pulled you in for a hug, stroking your hair gingerly as his lips hovered from your ear. “He misses you. He regrets it all I hope you know that.” You remained silent, pulling back from his hold. “We’re better off on our own Tito.” you whispered, Julie’s hand stroke your arm gently. “You and I both know that's a lie.” Anthony’s voice was cold, his eyes set into yours. “I’m sorry.” you shook your head, turning to head towards you cab. 

The wedding party behind you parted, leaving you to walk underneath the rain, protected by a dark umbrella above your head. As you approached the cab, the driver greeting you with a small nod, you thanked him as he placed your suitcase in the trunk. Mat stood not to far off, watching you with a painful look. He looked cozy, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and an Islanders hoodie, one you always stole once upon a time ago. Your mind told you to sit in the cab, but your heart said go to him. 

You excused yourself from the driver, making your way towards Mat. His body relaxed as you neared, dark hair wet from either the rain or a shower. He stood tall underneath his own umbrella. You stepped close to him, closing your own umbrella and stepping underneath his. Your hair rested behind your ears, the black rain jacket secure around you. Your blue jeans matched the color of his hoodie, and the tips of your muddy sneakers touched his. 

“I meant what I said, all of it.” he whispered, his finger tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You closed your eyes at the touch. “I can't let you do that Mat.” you retorted. “You can't no, but I meant it, and it’s my choice.” his words dripped with scorn and pain. His dark eyes longed for yours. “I’m sorry for hurting you Mat.” He nodded, accepting your 100th apology. “You’re hurting me even more right now.” 

The cab driver called your name, alerting you that you were getting late. This was it. This was the end. 

“Please don’t go.” he whispered. “I’m sorry Mat, I am so sorry.” and with that, your pulled him my the jaw in for a kiss. He kissed back immediately, holding onto your waist tightly. “I love you.” your words brushed against his lips. “I love you too” he sighed as you pulled away, turning abruptly, and ran. Running back to the cab, away from him, just like you had that brutal Sunday morning. 

[twinkle-320]

The Climb

This is my submission for the Quote me on this challenge.  The quote I was given appears in the mood board below and is bolded in the fic.

This is my first fic on tumblr so I am a little nervous.  I tried really hard to keep it to 1000 words but admittedly went a bit over (1490ish 😬).

Since my writing is new you can Meet my MC here.

Song for this Drabble:  “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus

Warning: light language and suggestion of lemon

Tag list for Quote me on this:

@riseandshinelittleblossom @leelee10898​ @ao719​ @darley1101​ @theroyalrookie​ @bobasheebaby​ @texaskitten30​ @batgirlassociationofgothamcity​ @burnsoslow​ @drethanramslay​ @openheart12​ @candy72008​ @bebepac​ @twinkle-320​ @h3llostrang3r​ @lucy-268​ @dcbbw​ @oofchoices​ @blackcoffee85​ @anotherbeingsworld​ @walkerswhiskeygirl​ @twinkleallnight​ @trappedinfandoms​ @hopefulmoonobject​ @losingbraincellseveryday​ @god-save-the-keen​  

Drake woke to the sun streaming in through the windows of the master suite in Valtoria. Blinking to adjust to the harsh light, he noticed the drapes had been pulled open and a breeze flowed in through the French doors that had been left a jar. When he turned to reach for his wife, instead of her warm, soft skin, he found a ball of fur where their corgi Fletcher lay sleeping in Riley’s spot. Pulling on the pajama bottoms he had left folded at the bottom of the bed, Drake slowly made his way to the balcony, stretching the sleep from his body.

Outside, as he suspected, he found Riley already dressed for the day, curled up on the comfy outdoor sectional with her usual chai in hand. What he hadn’t expected to see was the chaos she was surrounded by.

In her lap sat a textbook and a notebook in which she was furiously writing notes. On either side of her where multiple binders with color coded tabs, bursting at the seams with papers spilling out. An empty mug, presumably from an earlier chai, sat on the table surrounded by dozens of post-it notes, fabric swatches, and paint samples.

Leaning down to clear himself a spot, he pressed a kiss to her forehead before she even looked up and realized he was there. Drake laughed as she jumped in surprise. “Morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning, Marshmallow,” she replied, finally looking up and giving him a smile. 

“You’re up early.”

Riley sat down her pen and mug, and ran a gentle hand over her growing belly. “Bean decided to start kicking practice at the crack of dawn. I have so much to do, I figured I’d take advantage of the quiet.”

Drake lovingly placed his hand over hers and leaned down next to her belly. “You’re supposed to let Mommy sleep, Bean.”

Riley rolled her eyes playfully and ran her free hand affectionately through Drake’s hair as he kissed her belly. Drake had softened even more when they found out about the baby and it made Riley’s heart swell.

“So what’s all this?” he asked, sitting up gesturing to her organized chaos.

“Well...this,” she said patting the book in her lap, “is case study. I have a predictive memo due next week for my legal writing class. These binders are for duchy work...one is all the research for my tourism proposal that I have to get to Liam in the next day or so and the other is plans for the lantern festival that’s coming up.”

“And that mess?” he asked pointing to the table.

Riley laughed. “Random thoughts I’ve written down so I don’t forget...appointments, calls I need to make, baby names, nursery themes, plus some ideas for paint colors and design.”

“Hmmm, well, you are notoriously forgetful Nevin.”

 “I blame the baby.”

“Shhhh, don’t listen to her Bean,” he said leaning back to her belly. “She was plenty forgetful before you came along.”

Riley playfully nudged Drake away. “Baby brain is a real thing, Drake!” 

“Okay, okay...I believe you,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

“So...is there any chance you can help me with some of this? Maybe look over my tourism proposal or weigh in on nursery stuff. I’m starting to wish we knew if this little one was a he or she. I could design a kick-ass nursery in no time if I knew.”

“It’s not too late to find out, Nevin.”

“You know we can’t Drake. I’m sure Liam wouldn’t care but Bertrand...ugh, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard him say ‘One must follow all Royal protocol when one is carrying the Royal heir’. I almost recorded him to set it as my ringtone when he calls.”

“I don’t know how my sister puts up with him,” Drake said, shaking his head. “Anyway, I’ll help however I can when I get home but I have to head to the capitol. One of the mares at the palace stable is due to give birth and I have to be there as part of my clinical rotation.”

Riley sighed. “Who’s bright idea was it for both of us to go back to school while running a duchy and having a baby?”

“I believe it was your idea, Your Grace,” Drake jested as he stood up and bowed. 

Riley swatted him on the ass. “You think you’re so funny.”

“Correction...I know I’m funny.” Drake leaned down and grabbed her pen and a stack of post- it’s, scribbling a quick note. “I’ve gotta go. But here is your top priority for the day.”

“Draaaakkke,” she whined, “I already have too much.”

“This will make it better.” Drake placed the note in her outstretched hand.

“Ask for help,” she read. “Drake, you know...”

“Yes...I know...I know you like to do everything yourself but you have Gladys and Hana here. Delegate and don’t try to be super woman; promise me.”

“Fine, I promise.”

After a quick shower, Drake threw on his scrubs and headed to the kitchen for coffee and a light breakfast to-go. Gladys was there conferring with one of the chefs and Drake took the opportunity to ask for her help with Riley’s to do list. Gladys was more than happy to offer assistance. With his coffee in hand, Drake grabbed his nap sack, tossed in an apple and one of the protein bars that Riley insisted were filling and waved on his way out the door. ——————————— Hours passed while Drake waited on the arrival of the foal. When he realized he wouldn’t be home for dinner, he had sent Riley a text. Judging by her brief reply, he was positive she was hard at work.

It was after 10 PM when he arrived home to find Gladys still in the kitchen. “Everything okay, Gladys? Shouldn’t you be off for the weekend by now?”

“I’m headed out now, sir. Just making some final notes on the lantern festival ball for the chefs.”

“So Riley let you help?”

Glady looked timidly toward the ground. “Well, sir...if by help you mean follow her around while she made plans and then handed me this completed binder, then yes...she let me help. I’m sorry, sir. I tried.”

“Don’t apologize. Where is she now?”

“She took supper in her study and has been there since.”

Drake thanked Gladys and saw her out before walking upstairs in search of his wife. Passing the nursery, he saw a soft glow of light and peeked inside. There were large bolts of fabrics all over the floor and 2x2 squares of 10 paint colors on the wall. Clearly Riley had been busy.

When he reached the study, he knocked and received no response; only the sound of her ‘thinking music’ playlist. He gently opened the door and saw Riley sound asleep with her head on the keyboard of her laptop. On her desk sat both her completed proposal and predictive memo. On the screen, there appeared to be a new proposal, half written before she nodded off. Drake rubbed gentle circles on her back and spoke softly not wanting to startle her; she was not pleasant to wake up.

“Mmm, Drake,” she groaned. “You’re home.”

“I am. Sorry it’s so late. So...should I even ask if you kept your promise?” Riley looked away without a word.  “I figured as much.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t over do it, I promise. I just...I guess I nodded off because I’m a little stressed.”

“I have the cure for that,” Drake said with a seductive smile.

Riley grinned at him. “You think that’s the cure for everything.”

“Am I wrong?”

“When it comes to that?...no. You certainly know how to make me forget my troubles.”

“So let’s go...I’ll relieve that stress and pleasure you till you forget all about to do lists.”

“I want to...I do, just...let me finish this proposal I started and...”

Drake pressed his lips to hers, interrupting her excuses. “Nevin...this is too much, you’re gonna burn yourself out. When are you gonna stop trying to do it all?”

“Don’t stop until you’re proud,” she replied, noticing the look of confusion on Drake’s face. “That’s what my mom used to say to me and Drew; don’t stop until you’re proud. She knew we’d feel better from accomplishing something than we ever would from giving up.”

“Asking for help is not the same as giving up, Nevin. It’s just a shared accomplishment.”

“I know, but...”

“No buts,” he said, reaching around her to close the laptop. “This will all be here tomorrow.” Drake swept her into his arms with ease and carried her toward their room. “Right now, I’m gonna ravish you till you’re screaming my name and forget your own, because that makes me proud.  I promise it will be much more satisfying than any proposal.”

[xlehukax]

Start of Something: The Pieces Fall Into Place (Pt. 3)

-Writing a little series on here as a warm up! In accordance to @orangelegs‘s Hogwarts AU! Updates won’t be on a set time, but they’ll come eventually-

When they finally arrive at the event, Patton and Virgil wink at each other from across the room. Virgil is having his ear talked off by Logan- Patton counts his blessings that no one else has approached them. 

“Hey, Roman, I see Virgil. I’m going to go send him over to say hi, okay?” 

“Alright, my dear friend. Remus appears to be hiding a bar of Frog Spawn Soap behind his back over by the punch, so I will go intercept that-” 

“Alright, bye bye!” Patton eagerly departs his friend in favor of dashing over to Logan and Virgil. They’re chatting about this or that, and Virgil catches Patton’s eyes with a smirk. 

“Hey, Logan, here’s that guy I was talking about. He’d be the perfect co-commentator!” 

And there he is. Logan, the most brilliant Ravenclaw there ever was. Patton waves nervously, an awkward smile adorning his face. A co-commentator? That could work. I could do that. And I would be sitting next to Logan for entire games! Not to mention we’d have to talk outside of class about it. This is bloody fantastic. 

“H-hi there… I’m Patton,” Patton extends a hand to shake. Logan hums, and takes it. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” 

“Yeah! We sit next to each other in Transfigurations. You’re the smartest person I know,” Patton compliments him shyly, adoring the light blush that adorns Logan’s cheeks.

“I- uh, why thank you, Patton. It’s nice to be appreciated. I had no idea you think of me that way… to be honest, I was sure you were trying to copy me. Everyone else seems to,” Logan seems sad for a moment, then realizes the mission at hand, “I do need a co-commentator with traits such as but not limited to a wide knowledge of Quidditch, charisma, a proficiency in comedy, as well as the ability to conduct… what’s the word… ah yes, banter,” Logan lists off, producing a small notepad from his pocket to make sure he had everything. 

“I can do that! I’ve seen every single game, for the most part… I follow a few of the school players so I like to show my support for them if I can. I think I’m pretty good with jokes too! Do you want to hear a Quidditch pun?” 

Logan nods seriously. Patton feels like he’s sweating under the intense scrutiny, but recalls an easy one he told Roman last week off the top of his head. 

“Hey, did you hear about that new Firebolt broom? They’re practically flying off the shelves!” Patton laughs at his own joke a little, and looks up at Virgil and Logan. Virgil snorts a short little chuckle and Logan breaks into an unsure smile. 

“You’ll be satisfactory. How about you come on… say, Friday’s Gryffindor Friendly? If you show up a little bit earlier I can show you the ropes.” 

“Just me and you?” 

“In all likelihood, yes,” Logan shrugs. Patton nearly dies of excitement. This is more than he could have asked for: now not only does Logan know his name, but he’s getting one-on-one time with him and will be with him for hours on end. And, Logan will actually talk to him instead of ignoring him like usual. Blessings upon blessings. 

Time to fulfill his end of the bargain. Patton glances to Virgil, raising his eyebrows in a way he hopes looks secretive and super-spy like. It’s go time, shadowling. 

Is Patton trying to look cool? Or was he struck with some kind of eyebrow jelly-legs jinx from behind? What is happening? 

Virgil gawks at Patton confusedly, genuinely confused at what he’s trying to convey. Eventually, he sighs and adjusts his glasses. 

“Super great to talk to you, Logan! I need to borrow Virgil for a moment, send me an owl, would you?” Patton smiles brightly. Logan meanwhile, makes a noise of agreement while scratching down notes into his pocket notebook. Patton drags Virgil away, and once they’re out of sight, jumps up and down shrieking in delight. 

“THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! Oh my goodness, this is the best! Thank you, Virgil! I owe you one!” 

“Actually, you owe me an introduction,” Virgil deadpans, though unable to hide the small half-smile at Patton’s overexcitement. His eyes widen in realization. 

“Oh yeah! Alright, alright, so I asked him and Roman may have let it slip that he needs some kind of tutor! You know, Quidditch players have to have decent grades or else they can’t go to games. So, are you any good at Potions or Charms?” 

“Heh, those are my best classes,” Virgil thanks whatever led him to being a loner: when you’re alone most of the time you have a lot of time to study and be really good at class. 

“Okay! We can go over there and I’ll introduce you and you can help Roman pass his classes! You don’t have any other commitments do you? He doesn’t like it when people try to rope him into stuff…” Patton bites his lip nervously. Virgil, once again, praises his empty life. 

“Nope. No one really likes me in their groups,” Virgil blows air out of his pursed lips.

“Oh that’s so sad!! Why won’t everyone include you? Rude!” 

“Nah, I don’t really want to join any stupid clubs. I don’t fit in with any groups of people, anyway. I’m not any sort of prankster like Remus, or super intelligent like Logan, or a social butterfly like you, or a Quidditch aficionado like Roman, or anything like that. I’m a loner,” Virgil has accepted this fact. He doesn’t care about any of that stuff: he’s been alone with the exception of Logan for a while now. 

“You’re an artist!” Patton pipes up. Virgil rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not that good. And any self respecting wizard artist uses enchantments to make them move,” 

“You know, Roman will probably let you paint him and do that enchantment stuff if you said you were an artist…” Patton hints slyly. Virgil narrows his eyes. 

“Don’t patronize me.” 

“Fine, fine! Ready to go?” Patton asks, clapping his hands together. Virgil runs a hand through his hair, adjusting it so the purple streaks are more apparent, calming his furiously spinning mind. Here we go. Meeting my crush. A hallmark of school. I can do this. 

“Let’s do this,” 

They’re walking over… they’re a few feet away… 

“Hey there Ro-Ro! I want you to meet my friend Virgil and your new best tutor for Charms!” 

Roman turns, grins… and it’s like all the lights have turned on. This boy, this evanescent star, is looking, really looking at Virgil and it’s like the whole world has been illuminated. 

“Patton! Thank you, you’re an absolute doll. I needed a tutor for Charms! Virgil, let me introduce myself -though I likely need no introduction-, I’m Roman King. It would be the greatest honor for your assistance in Charms,” Roman cocks his head and bloody winks suavely at Virgil. On anyone else, Virgil would deem it annoyingly fake: on Roman, it seems like the most natural thing ever. 

“I- uh, yeah. I watch your games. You’re real good- um… truly an upcoming star-“ Virgil stammers through what is likely the most horrifically embarrassing sentence ever uttered. 

“Aha! So you’re a fan, then? Delightful! Don’t go falling for me now- we have work to do!” Roman laughs boisterously. Patton looks at Virgil nervously, to which Virgil shakes it off. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. If I can just talk to him, for now, maybe things will change later. I certainly have the time. 

“In your dreams, Princey,” Virgil snorts. Patton glances at Virgil, shocked, but Virgil waves him off. Virgil can hide his heart: he’s quite good at hiding. This will be no issue. He’s getting to spend time with Roman anyways… he can swallow his pride. He’ll outlast the other petty girls and boys who gave up after Roman didn’t notice them. Virgil’s more than them. He’s stronger, made of firmer wood than the others. 

“What days work for you for tutoring? If you want, we can do it in the Stands before your practices,” Virgil suggests. Roman’s eyes light up. 

“Yes! That’s absolutely perfect,” he takes Virgil’s hands in his excitedly, and Virgil idly thinks that this might just be the best decision of his life, “Thank you, Virgil. I’m in your debt… how do I repay you?” 

Now, if this was one of those dirty mangas Virgil read once to ‘research the art style’, he’d wink and use some innuendos to tell Roman exactly how he could repay him. But it’s not. And Virgil’s much too nervous to try any kind of move like that. After a speechless moment, he settles on:

“Ah… sure I’ll think of something,” he says lamely. Roman nods sagely. 

“Let me know! Either way, I think I have to go rein in Remus again- he’s attempting to pour belch powder over the entirety of the snack bar. I’ll see you Friday, okay?” 

“Sounds good. You bring all the textbooks that you want to review,” Virgil sighs. Roman shoots him a thumbs up and a smile. 

The second he disappears, Virgil deflates in on himself. Patton pats him on the shoulder. 

“That was… not great,” 

“It’s cool. I’ll sort my own shit out,” Virgil runs a hand through his hair. The consensus he reaches is that any alone time with Roman is positive, and if he never gets to date him it would be sucky but not the worst thing ever. Virgil’s gotten so far: it’s progress. 

“And I’m commentating for Logan on Friday too! I’m so excited I could burst!!” Patton squeals happily, a move that would have once made him cringe and shirk away, but instead prompts a small tug of the lips. 

“Virgil!” Logan calls out to him from the other side of the field. Virgil looks over and waves with a rare smile and looks away. 

What he doesn’t notice, despite being the perceptive person he is, how Logan flushes in the face and carries a mirror smile for the rest of the evening. 

And even more, what no one at the party, not a single soul notices: the new Slytherin seeker watching all with mild amusement… taking in all of the new bonds that form and the relationships that blossom. He can see it all, just as clear as if it were in writing. No one pays him any mind as he chuckles from his spot on the Courtyard pillars. This will be fun to watch… 

“Hey, Dee-Dee, whatcha doing all by your lonesome over here? You want some com-pan-y?” Remus comes out of nowhere, dancing his fingers up his arms. 

“I’m going to have to take a raincheck on that one, love,” Janus sighs, “And frankly, we’ve established that ‘Deceit’ is a cruel and outdated nickname, yes? That’s a remnant of a malicious childhood and even more vicious children,” 

“Yeeeeaaaaah, I knoooooow, but it’s so fun!! Who else can I call Double-D? You know, I gave you that nickname because-”

“Because snakes have two dicks. Yes, I know. You tell me that delicious little tidbit each and every day, Remus,” 

“Well, yeah, maybe, but either way! What are you doing, all here by yourself?” 

“It seems that there are some new developments happening in our favorite little community of friends,” Janus smiles. 

“Like what?” Remus asks, his morbid curiosity piqued, bumping his head against Janus’s. Janus, to his credit, does not balk whatsoever and rather brushes Remus’s hair back comfortably. His fingers go from the front of his scalp to the back: oddly enough, though it appears unkempt, Remus’s hair is actually maintained to a somewhat hygienic standard. Well, as long as Remus’s pet vermin isn’t nesting in it. To pet his hair is a familiar gesture for the both of them- calming Remus’s hyperactivity while helping to hone Janus’s focus. It’s been a hallmark of their relationship since Year One. 

“You’ll see, dearest Remus. You’ll see. Things, I feel, are about to get quite messy,” Janus smiles excitedly, “And we might just have to be the one cleaning up the messes instead of starting them.” 

“Aww, but that’s no fun! What am I going to do with all those Dungbombs? Peeves will be so disappointed,” Remus pouts up at Janus. Remus has always been quite the prankster: constant trips to Zonko’s, teaming up with Peeves for maximum mischief, going even as far as reading Year 5 textbooks to learn new fun spells. Janus has instead been the voice of reason, matching cunning to his pure madness. They balance each other beautifully, keeping each other afloat because no one else will. 

“Don’t worry, my friend. You’ll still get to do all your fun little pranks and more,” Janus chuckles. 

Taglist (Ask to be added if you’d like!):

@justabsbutler @shaded14space @patton-cake

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Also, just a note, I make a lot of references to spells, potions, pranks... I’m not as much a Potterhead as I am infatuated with the world building. It’s all learnable via interwebs, so you might learn something from my extremely specific references. :3 

[cheliceraekisses]

Vintage Voidcraft

F/F - android/mechanic - nsfw 18+

A mechanic from the frontier of space gets her dream girl and her dream ship, all in one day.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112583

The bell over the door of the hangar rung, pulling Jay’s attention away from the magazine she’d been poring over. She sighed. Customers were good, but she’d been hoping to spend the rest of her day with the latest issue of Vintage Voidcraft. Hopefully they’d at least driven something interesting into her shop, and not another one of those boring, sterile ships Rekko kept putting out. She tossed her magazine on the table, putting on her best customer service smile before leaving the office.

She rounded the corner to the lobby area she’d set up in the hangar and froze, looking at the prettiest girl she’d seen since, well, since coming to Ceres Station, this backwater in the middle of nowhere. Her practised smile fell away immediately. She was short, maybe five feet, and dressed all in pastels, a leather choker with a heart shaped ring at the front topping it off. Her blue skirt went down to mid-thigh, with pink knee socks and plain white flats. Her long white hair, streaked with pink and blue, fell over her shoulders, framing a lacy white blouse. Really, in every way, the opposite of Jay’s black tank, red flannel and half undone overalls. She would have done up the other side, if she knew where the button had gotten to. The pretty girl was looking up at the bell with an amused smile on her face.

Jay cleared her throat to get the girl’s attention, but before she could launch into her usual welcome, she was cut off with a giggle.

“Why do you have a bell on a sliding door?” The girl asked, her voice melodic and sweet and just as pretty as she was.

“Huh? Oh, that. My parents owned a mechanic shop back on Earth, I guess it reminds me of home?” She looked at the work she’d done, attaching a short rod to the door to hit the bell on its way past. “It’s kinda silly but it didn’t feel right in here without it.” She gave an embarrassed chuckle, blushing furiously.

Desperately searching for something to say, her eyes landed on the empty hangar. “So, what brings you in today?” She asked. “Don’t see a ship in here, did you fly in?”

“My ship broke down in an asteroid field a couple parsecs out,” came the reply from behind her. “Had to hitchhike here. I heard you could give me a tow, so here I am.”

“Yeah, sure, give me a minute to bring my ship around and we can go. You can wait in the office if you like.” She gestured to the small building she’d set up in the corner and, trying to hide her blush, fled the hangar far faster than she’d meant to. The dingle of the bell as she left did nothing to help her embarrassment.

The second the door was closed, she pulled out her phone, pulling up the camera and checking to see how obvious her blush had been. Very obvious, apparently, her cheeks almost as red as the old flannel shirt her dad had given her. No way the girl didn’t know she was totally smitten. Worse yet, she realized she’d forgotten to even ask for her customer’s name. Smooth. This run was going to be the death of her.

She took her time starting up her ship, checking the cockpit to make sure she hadn’t left anything embarrassing around. The ship was old and reliable, and she made sure to keep it in good shape despite it’s age. She’d had it since she left earth and never had a problem she couldn’t fix. She was saving up to buy herself a second, personal ship and leave this one for work, but nothing on the market now interested her and vintage craft were always expensive.

The engine sputtered to life, roaring in the commercial hangar full of silent, modern ships. Jay never understood the point, every engine was silent once you got it into space anyway. Besides, how could you drive a ship when you couldn’t hear what it was doing? She just couldn’t get the hang of looking to the screens for every little thing. It took too long, and half the time it didn’t tell her what she wanted to know anyway. She hoped the pretty girl waiting in her office agreed.

The drive around Ceres station took around ten minutes, but it was another five before Jay worked up the courage to step off the ship and find the mystery woman. She found her in the office, reading her copy of Vintage Voidcraft and smiling to herself. She looked up when Jay walked in, dropping the magazine where it was, open to a page on N.A.I.A.D. class ships.

“Paper? Not digital?” She asked, gesturing to the magazine.

“Oh, yeah, the relays out here suck, half the time it’s quicker to get the paper copies in.” It really was, the slow sub-FTL connections completely flooded with the station admin’s traffic. God knows when your data would get through. “Plus, this way I’ve got stuff to leave out for customers to read. It just, uh, you know.”

“Feels like home?” Her voice had taken on a teasing lilt that made Jay’s heart jump into her throat.

“Yeah, that,” she finally managed. This girl was gonna kill her. “By the way, I forgot to ask your name before?”

For the first time, Jay felt like she’d gotten the upper hand, the question making the girl start. “Um, my name? It’s, er,” she floundered for a moment. “Nadia. It’s Nadia.”

“Mine’s Jay,” Jay replied easily, still basking in having made the gorgeous woman flustered. Nadia, pretty. It suited her.

“I know,” Nadia said, the smile returning to her face. She knew? Well, it was on the door, Jay supposed, and it’s not like she had any employees.

“Well, tow’s here. Should we get going?”

“Sure,” Nadia said, moving to the door and ending up very close to Jay. Too close, she thought, looking down at the other girl. Her eyes really were gorgeous, a bright, coppery brown with a vertical line of pale gold cutting through the irises. Definitely robotic.

Her staring was cut off after several seconds by a gentle cough. “Are we going?” She asked, fully recovered and back to teasing by now. Jay jumped, spluttering out an apology and leading the way to the ship.

Jay prepared herself for the worst as Nadia came back out to the hangar, looking at her old beater of a ship. Surprisingly though, Nadia just smiled at it. “You take good care of her, huh?” Was all she said, running her hand over the paint before boarding. Jay beamed, her whole month made by just one bit of praise from a pretty girl.

“So,” Jay said, dropping into the captain’s chair and pulling up a map, “where did you say you left your ship?”

“Just over here,” Nadia said, pointing to the screen.

“Just over here” turned out to be several hours out, and Jay groaned inwardly, realizing how long she’d be spending in close proximity to the prettiest woman she’d ever met. They’d barely met an hour ago, and already she could barely contain herself. The next six hours were going to be rough.

Thankfully, Nadia opened up the conversation and saved her. “So, you like vintage ships too, huh?” She asked with a warm smile.

“Too?” Jay asked hopefully.

“Yeah, spaceflight used to be so much more classy. New ships just feel so cold?”

Jay was over the moon. Not only was this girl damn near exactly her type, she loved old ships. They slipped into conversation easily, swapping stories about the coolest old ships they’d gotten to drive, repair, and even just see in the wild. Before Jay noticed two hours were gone and they’d nearly reached the asteroid field.

“So,” she asked, slipping back into work mode. “What kind of ship are we looking for out here, anyway?”

“Don’t freak out too bad,” Nadia said with a smug grin. “It’s a N.A.I.A.D.-3.”

Jay freaked out. How could she not, the N.A.I.A.D.-3 was her dream ship, the one that cost way more than a frontier system mechanic would ever see and made her consider a career shift to piracy whenever she’d gotten to work on one. That settled it, she had to marry this girl. Guiltily, she hoped the ship would be more than a little damaged, so Nadia would stay around Ceres station for a while. There wasn’t much at the station, but she figured she could pull a decent date together if she tried.

Sadly —no, happily, she reminded herself— the ship appeared perfectly fine from a distance, floating safely behind an asteroid. She pulled her ship up next to it, feeling more than a little jealous parking her blocky old tow ship next to the gorgeous little dart. The N.A.I.A.D.-3 was built for speed, with an engine that purred like a cheetah and a beautiful, sleek profile. Nadia’s ship was in perfect condition too, clearly well-loved and taken care of.

“Before you get the tow hooked up, wanna go over and look around? Engine’s busted but the ship itself is still working fine,” Nadia said, with an easy smile. Not waiting for an answer, she turned on Jay’s short range boarding system and jumped across. Jay didn’t hesitate, jumping out of her chair to follow.

The interior was just as gorgeous as the outside, clearly redone recently. Every surface was polished, onyx panels with gold controls laid out before a black leather captain’s chair. The lighting was warm, easy on the eyes but bright enough to see everything. Standing next to the chair, Nadia threw a jokey salute. “Have a seat, Captain,” she practically purred, laughing. So this was what love felt like, Jay thought, relaxing into the comfiest chair she’d probably ever sat in.

Nadia bit her bottom lip, moving the second Jay’s eyes were off of her. She casually crossed the small cockpit, climbing into the chair and dropping into Jay’s lap, facing her. Jay’s eyes went wide, her cheeks glowing. “Nadia? What are you—”

“Shush,” Nadia whispered, leaning in to kiss her.

Jay returned the kiss enthusiastically, almost immediately realizing something. Nadia wasn’t human. More than just the natural excitement of kissing the prettiest girl she’d ever seen, Nadia’s tongue made her’s tingle, like licking a battery. So she was an android then. Jay spared a thought for a few of the magazines she ordered that didn’t make it to the rack in her lobby. That was just fine with her.

What was quickly becoming a problem however, was that Nadia clearly had no need for oxygen. Jay pulled away from the kiss to breathe, feeling light headed, and before she could gasp down a single breath Nadia was chasing her down, pinning her head to the chair and sucking her tongue, hard. Jay finally had to push her back, just for a moment, to catch her breath.

Nadia laughed, watching Jay intently and worrying her lip while Jay breathed. Idly, Jay wondered if she was one of those androids who were just, well, into humans. She certainly seemed to be enjoying the show.

After a moment, seeing Jay wasn’t going to be done soon, Nadia spoke. “I should apologize, I told you a couple lies earlier.” She reached behind Jay, pressing a couple buttons on the control panel, and the ship’s engine roared to life. “The ship’s not broken at all. I...” She paused, looking nervous. “I brought it here to give it to you. As a gift.”

Jay just stared, all thoughts of catching her breath gone. After a moment, Nadia continued. “I... I fell in love with you a while back. So I brought you this...” She laughed awkwardly, waiting for Jay to say something.

“Do we... Have we met before?” Jay asked quietly. She figured she would have remembered meeting someone so exactly her type.

“Not exactly,” Nadia sighed. She took a moment to gather her courage. “Nadia isn’t my name. I’m the N.A.I.A.D.’s control system. Er, not just this one. All of them.”

Jay had stars in her eyes. She’d met androids before, of course, and she knew the N.A.I.A.D. class ships had a networked control system, but for a whole system like that to wake up as an A.I. was the kind of thing you only ever heard rumours about. “Wait so, how did you fall— No wait, better question. Your name’s Naiad and for your fake name you went with Nadia?”

Naiad pouted, looking away to the side. “Look I... Set all this up, bought this body,” She indicated herself. Er, her android self. “Picked one of my ships, had the whole thing refitted for you, came up with this whole story, I had a lot on my plate. I forgot you humans cared so much about names anyway, and when you asked me I—”

“You panicked,” Jay said, stifling a laugh. Naiad’s pout deepened, and Jay threw her arms around her with a laugh. “So, can we kiss some more?” She asked.

Naiad didn’t bother responding, instead diving right in, shoving her tongue in the butch girl’s mouth. The shocking feeling was stronger this time, nearly making Jay’s tongue numb. She moaned into the kiss. She could get used to this.

At length, they stopped kissing, just sitting together comfortably. “So,” Jay started, “What did make you fall in love with me then?”

“I... My bodies... That is, the ships, obviously they’ve been to a lot of mechanics. Most of them hated working on such old ships, or they were just... Rough on me, or sometimes they’d recommend scrapping the ship entirely and buying a new one. But every time someone brought one to Ceres, they’d get directed to your place, and you always took such good care of me.” Naiad looked embarrassed, and if she could have blushed, she probably would have. “Perfect replacement parts, pretty new paint jobs, I could feel how much you love your job every time I visited. Pretty soon... I guess I wanted to return the favour, and take care of you as well,” she said, her tone making it clear exactly how she wanted to return the favour.

Jay could feel herself getting harder by the second, as Naiad’s tone steadily turned to honey. Of course, she wouldn’t deny being taken care of, but... “Naiad,” she whispered, “How do I take care of you too? Do I just have to do maintenance on the ship while we fuck?” She laughed at the image. She’d never been with an android before, and even if she had she imagined Naiad would be a special case.

Naiad quietly took Jay’s hands, raising them to her breasts. They felt surprisingly real, and the moan she let out was genuine, the hottest sound Jay had ever heard. Her body must have cost a small fortune. All to fuck a mechanic from the backwaters of the frontier. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well,” Naiad began, pausing to gasp loudly as Jay groped her. “I can feel everything you do to this body.” She started to slowly roll her hips, ghosting her apparently uncovered slit over Jay’s growing bulge. The light tingle between her legs told Jay Naiad had the same electricity coursing through her pussy as through her tongue, and her cock twitched, spurting pre at the thought. “But maybe I bought a few special upgrades for the ship as well,” she gave Jay a lustful look, biting her lip as she slid herself back off the chair and onto the floor, palming Jay’s cock through her overalls. As she did so, a flash of silver pulled Jay’s attention upwards, to a pair of steel tentacles extending from the cabin’s roof. Tenderly, they pushed her flannel off her shoulders hooking their way into the arms and gently pulling it away to fall behind the chair. Naiad smiled up at her, a mischievous glint in her eye, and popped the button on her overalls, pulling them down while the tentacles hooked through the straps of her tank top, tugging it off as well. Naiad’s fingers played softly across her abs, watching in wonder as the muscles tensed under her touch.

It took Jay a moment to realize how quickly she’d been stripped, only registering as she felt the cool air of the cabin on the head of her cock. She looked back down to see Naiad playing with her, bringing her the rest of the way to attention. She smiled up at her lover, searching her face for any signs of discomfort before giving the same half salute she’d given before. “You’re so big, Captain,” she drawled, kissing her way up and down the shaft in front of her, eyes widening with every twitch.

Meanwhile, with a soft sound of metal scraping, the tentacles opened, revealing something akin to suction cups. One attached itself to Jay’s breast, and the other went to her neck, suckling, sure to leave an enormous bruise. She closed her eyes, focusing on the pleasure, trying to think how she could repay the favour.

She got her answer when something bumped against her lips. Opening her eyes in shock, she saw a third tentacle had descended from the roof, this one with an artificial dick not unlike the one she kept by her bed at home on the end. Except for that this one likely cost several thousand dollars more, judging by the sound Naiad made as she excitedly leaned forward, taking it into her mouth as deep as she could and swallowing around it. So she could feel through the tentacles then. She raised a hand to rub the tentacle, matching pace with her bobbing head, trying to draw more noises from the beautiful girl in front of her.

Jay’s pace broke when Naiad’s tongue touched the tip of her length, sending a jolt coursing through her. She bucked her hips, hard, accidentally sinking the head of her cock into Naiad’s mouth fully, locking up, fearing the stimulation would overwhelm her. After several seconds of somehow managing to hold back, her lover turned up the power, flicking her tongue over the head of her cock and driving her over the edge, cum flooding Naiad’s mouth and spurting past her lips, falling down her chin and splattering onto her blouse. She kept sucking, doing her best to draw forth every drop, before sitting back, proud of her work, watching her tentacles roughly handle her love.

Jay pulled the tentacle out of her mouth, giving it a long, wet lick, and reached a hand out towards the android. “Come up here,” she said with a smirk, “Let me undress you.” She pulled the girl into her lap, kissing her passionately, moaning at the taste of her own cum and the tingling sensation that accompanied kissing Naiad. Her hands went to her hips, sliding under the blouse and lifting up, fingers dancing up along her back before pulling the blouse over her head, smearing more than a little cum on her face and hair in the process. Naiad didn’t seem to mind, laughing and running her finger through the cum splattered on her cheek, slowly licking it off.

Next went her skirt, shimmying it down her hips, revealing a cute little patch of artificial hair, pastel pink and blue split down the middle, over a very realistic looking pussy, wet and inviting enough to have Jay stiffening all over again, despite how sore her cock felt. Having the girl of her dreams in her lap and the tentacles, now both on her small tits, sucking away was certainly helping. Naiad’s shoes hit the floor at some point while she was staring, but when the android reached to remove her knee socks Jay reached out to gently push her hands away. Naiad cocked an eyebrow at her, moving her hands to gently tug at Jay’s cock instead.

As Jay relaxed into the feeling of Naiad preparing her cock for another round, she felt a pressure from below her, coming out of the chair she sat in. A moment later, sure enough, a fourth tentacle slipped through the chair, pushing itself up against her ass, already lubed. It wormed its way, slowly opening her up but barely going inside her. Meanwhile, a fifth tentacle slid out, fondling at her balls and the base of her cock. She moaned, grabbing the tentacle still waiting near her mouth and sucking it down into her throat, hoping to provoke some action out of her new girlfriend. Well, hopefully girlfriend.

Naiad moaned, falling forwards to lay her head against Jay’s neck. Fine, if she wanted it so bad, she could have it. All at once, she slid her tentacle inside her lover while dropping her hips down in one smooth motion, taking her right to the base. Rather than waiting for the girl to get used to it, she started bouncing, timing the sucking and thrusting of her tentacles perfectly with the roll of her hips. For the first few seconds anyway. Riding in a body she wasn’t used to yet turned out to be harder than she’d anticipated, and she quickly found herself falling forwards, only for the mechanic’s strong arms to catch her. Jay tried to look as smug as she could with a tentacle-cock in her mouth, moving her arms around Naiad’s hips and steadying her, guiding the roll of her hips and showing her exactly how to move.

A particularly deep thrust had Naiad moaning lewdly again, only this time she moaned through the ship’s speakers as well. She gripped tightly to Jay’s arms, seemingly taking as much pleasure from the mechanic’s manhandling of her as from the fucking. The lights flickered, the tentacles perfect rhythm faltered, and the noises of Naiad’s pleasure came out of the speakers at ever increasing volumes. Several of the monitors around the room flashed warnings, as various safety features, convinced the ship was suffering a catastrophic core meltdown, fired off. Through it all, Naiad refused to give her lover even a second of rest, pulling the tentacle from her mouth and stuffing it between their joined breasts, pushing the suckling tentacles to tug at Jay’s neck and pulling her into a passionately violent kiss.

Naiad finally came with an explosion of sound, as her final cries of “Don’t stop” and “I love you” blasted over the speakers. The tentacles jerkily continued their assault, spraying thick, white simulated cum over the two of them, the power in her body ratcheting up further, the shock coursing through Jay and dragging her over the edge as well, her cock spasming and flooding Naiad’s cunt with her seed. The thought of getting the android knocked up flashed through her mind, pulling her back to the brink, and it seemed the same had occurred to Naiad as she moaned the words into Jay’s mouth, redoubling her efforts despite the orgasm only just finished tearing through her. Relying entirely on Jay’s arms to guide her, Naiad slammed her hips up and down, milking a final orgasm out of each of them before her body’s safety features kicked in to prevent her from literally fucking her lover to death.

Naiad collapsed onto Jay, lying still against her chest. Jay breathed heavily, finally having the opportunity to breathe easily again. She watched as the tentacles retracted, pulled Naiad close in her arms, and let herself drift off.

---

Jay woke up looking around to find she was in her bed at home. She briefly panicked, thinking perhaps the whole experience was a dream, before catching sight of pink and blue through the door to her room. She dragged herself out of bed, finding Naiad on her couch, playing with her collection of old video games. She smiled, plopping down on the couch next to her and hugging her close.

“Morning sleepy,” Naiad said, looking slightly embarrassed at having the mechanic’s arms holding her again. “Sorry, some of us don’t need to sleep,” she shrugged, missing an easy jump for a moon and falling to her death. Cute, they’d have to work on that.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Jay blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “So, like, uh... What... Happens now?” She was too tired for this discussion, but she wanted to know sooner than later.

“The ship’s yours to keep, like I said. It’s a courting gift,” Naiad shrugged. “I got it all registered to you when we got home. As for me,” she turned her head to the side, ignoring the sounds of her character getting knocked off the stage by an enemy. “I’m yours to keep as well, assuming earlier meant as much to you as it did to me,” she said, hopefully.

Jay kissed her, deeply, quietly reaching over to move her character out of the way of another pointless death. She pulled back, looking into her gorgeous, coppery eyes, a satisfied, easy smile on her face. “Of course, beautiful. I love you too.”

[agonydearest]

#101 “Ill just have to c** inside you then.” for the Edward x Oliver smut prompt please!

*Blushes furiously* This is easily the most explicit thing I've ever posted - even more so than Riptide!  Behind Deep Water, this is the spiciest piece I think I've ever written, too.  Sorry it took so long, but I hope you like it!  This wraps up the smut prompts.  I enjoyed these challenges so much, so if anybody has any requests for a fic between ExO or other pairings, please send them to my ask box!   101 - “I'll just have to come inside you then.”

The first time it happened had been an accident. After that, it became something unspoken between the two.  Edward knew that Oliver would never ask for such a thing; it was too filthy, something unspeakable that a gentleman of his rank should never want.  But by God he loved it.   Neither of them could remember what they were looking for that brought them to the forbidden room that was Admiral Cochrane's office, but somehow the search ended with the two of them fucking on the polished floor as Oliver lay naked atop a pile of his own clothes with an equally naked Edward on top of him driving his hips at an animalistic speed that filled the room with the sounds of moans, cries, and the stench of sweat and sex.  Thankfully, the house was empty because nobody could have missed the noise, but Oliver was still concerned.  "We can't leave evidence." he's said as soon as Edward got his pants open. The other man has simply given him a wicked grin and replied, "I'll just have to come inside you then."  And damned if it wasn't the hottest thing Oliver had ever heard in his life. Oliver had already finished, the evidence painting his belly and chest, but Edward kept up his relentless pace, pounding into the pliant body beneath him even as Oliver practically sobbed from the over-stimulation that was just so good it made tears slide down his cheeks.  He knew he looked a mess, spread out on smooth hardwood floor in his father's office with his long legs pushed up to his torso, but he was in such a violent state of ecstasy that all he could do was cry out on every thrust inside him as the pleasure bordered just on the edge off too much. Then he felt it; Edward gasped and shuddered above him, overwhelmed by the intensity of his orgasm ripping through him and filling Oliver in a way that the blond would once have been disgusted by.  The sounds coming from Edward's mouth were downright pornographic, as was the filthy kiss that followed. It took a few minutes for their breathing to calm to a normal level, and of course, Edward was attentive to his lover and meticulous with aftercare.  He was wiping the mess off of Oliver's belly when Oliver started laughing.  "Did we really just have sex in my father's office?" he said in wonder as Edward slipped out of him and moved to lay next to him on the floor in an equally sweaty and sated heap. "Extremely hot sex." he chuckled, "You really shouldn't be wearing such tight pants, especially while bending over like that." "It's not my fault you seem to find me irresistible." Edward gave an amused snort and muttered "Damned tease." just as the sound of a door opening could be heard from several rooms away.  Oliver's stomach flipped in horror; his parents were home early!

TAGGING THE SQUAD! @po-theo-to @somin-yin @oliversdique @robo-angst @cryinginthebackseat

[certifiedskywalker]

Academic Misgivings (Part 6) - Peter Parker

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemies either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you. He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

Thanks for following this series so far! This is where the story starts to get busy in regards to Peter Remember, 250 notes for the next part! Have a fun read!

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE 

The grip of morning grogginess still held tight to you as you walked into the school. A chill had fallen over New York so cold that not even your sweatshirt could quite quell it on your walk from home. Just as you neared the doors of Midtown High, just when you were about to be welcomed by the heat of it’s walls, the unmistakable, uppity nasal pitch of Flash Johnson’s voice reached your ears. At least you would have the flame of your annoyance to warm you.

“Y/N! Wait up! Hold on!” With a pout you waited by the door and shifted your weight on your feet in a poor attempt to generate your own bubble of heat. Flash rushed up to you with a grin on his face. “Any progress?”

“What? What do you mean?” Your tone was snappy, eager to escape the unkind cold. Autumn’s grip on the city was loosening, giving way to Winter.

“With Parker? Anything?” At the mention of Peter’s name, you stiffened. Images of your tutoring session the day before flashed before you, taunted you with your still unresolved feelings towards the boy. Peter had tried to comfort you, understand you, and that was more than anyone had done in a long time. More than your family had done since starting high school.

“Uh...no,” you replied and pushed open the doors to the school. The unwelcoming foyer still harbored some of the outside chill, but you felt instantly warmed as the door shut behind you. With a long breath you started towards the next set of doors when you felt a horrible rush of cold against your back. 

“No? You haven’t like, charmed him?” You spun on your heel and glared at Flash. Your proximity forced him to take a step back, visible fearful of your response.

“With what? My womanly wilds? This isn’t some cliche teen rom-com.” You muttered a curse under your breath and pushed open the next set of doors.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Flash praised as he trailed after you. The hallways of the school had began to fill with a rush of students meeting friends at their lockers. The area around yours was empty and you made a beeline to the small safe haven.

“I know I’m right, Flash,” you flung back at him, hoping your biting words would deter him from following you. Yet, to no avail. He rambled on at your side as you entered your combination.

“Yes, yes, it’s like a uh...spy movie! You’re sneaking around, dancing circles around him, gathering the intell. The perfect spy!” You sighed as you pulled your locker open. “So you should have his pass-code by now, right?”

“Flash,” you turned to him and leaned against the locker banks with a furiously flat expression. “If you are going to be this pushy, you can call this partnership kaput. Unless...you want to talk to Peter?” His dark brown eyes widened, eyebrows raised but still not grazing your expectations. 

“No, no,” he stepped back with hands raised, “I trust you. I gotch you, fam.” You gritted your teeth at his use of slang. If it couldn’t be used in an academic paper, you felt it was a lesser word; something your English teacher before Ms. Lauren had enforced. It didn’t help that Flash was trying to ‘be cool’ with you either.

“Okay then,” you said with arms crossed over your chest, “run along then?” Flash nodded and rushed off. He called over his shoulder as you watched him go, still annoyed.

“See you at practice!” Content with having torn away his confident facade, you returned your attention back to your locker. You plucked your book out of the compartment and shoved them in your bag rather roughly, too tired to care.

When you tried to sleep the night before, after the tutoring session with Peter, you had tossed and turned. Lack of sleep did not aid in your attitude, especially when Flash was involved. Thoughts of different realities, ones where you and Peter had grown up as neighbors or were close friends had filtered through your mind when your head hit the pillow like some sort of twisted, romantic fiction. Things could have been so different; you could be meeting him at his train stop and walking with him to school, chatting about anything that came to mind. You could be dating him.

You shivered at the thought but you couldn’t tell exactly why. All you knew was that you were jealous, bitter even, when it came to Peter Parker, maybe even angry. Yet, somehow, through whatever magic means, he could make you feel like you were walking on air. It sickened you, made you stomach work itself up into knots. 

The discomfort lingered when your mind stalled on Peter and it, that discomfort, had become a strange ally in the mess you had created with Flash. You only hoped once the plan was done, however it turned out, that the sense of nerves would leave you be. Until then, you would close your locker and act like everything was fine. Even when you accidentally lock eyes with Peter as you pass through the hall. You would return his wave and walk to class, wholly ignoring the burning that had bloomed in your cheeks. 

“That’s why I think the CIA knew Kennedy was going to die,” MJ finished, in the same tone in which she had detailed her theory. Mr. Harrington, mouth agape, had asked a decathlon practice question regarding JFK that had stirred MJ into ranting. The team, even Flash, remained quiet, all eyes trained on the curly haired girl as she sat back. “And if I’m not here tomorrow, they got me too.”

“W-Well...then...practice...adjourned,” Mr. Harrington stammered as he rubbed a hand against his head. Slowly, the team stood from their seats while MJ examined her nails nonchalantly, picking away some paint from her art class. You shook your head at her and smiled when she met your gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing, just...that was intense,” you replied. You shuffled out of your seat and grabbed your bag from the spot on the floor beside your feet.

“Yeah well, so is life,” MJ sighed and was ready to continue when someone behind you cleared their throat. You turned and saw Peter, a loose blue jacket hanging off of his slim shoulders that made his already bright brown eyes all the more puppy-like.

“Are you ready to head out or…”

“I have more theories,” MJ interjected and you glanced over your shoulder.

“Um, maybe another time, MJ, okay?” She nodded in response and you looked back to Peter. “Alright, let’s go.”

You followed Peter out of the school’s library in a rather comfortable silence that was broken when MJ was safely out of earshot. Peter glanced at you with still wide eyes and you raised your eyebrows at him in a silent question.

“MJ’s kinda scary, right? It’s not just me?” You ‘tsked’ and shook your head as you both walked down the hall towards the school’s main exit. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” you mused aloud, “she’s just...eccentric.” Peter nodded and you caught the hints of a smile on his lips. 

“Uh so, the coffee shop?” Peter said, although it sounded more like a question as he pushed open the school’s main door. He held it open for you, a gesture that made part of stomach twinge with giddiness. 

“Yeah?” You questioned as Peter fell back into step at your side. 

“Have you ever been inside? I hear some of the girls at school talking about it. Apparently they have like fancy drinks and stuff.” 

As Peter talked, his rather long steps would fumble and his shoulder would brush against yours. He rattled on about the shop as you crossed the street, but none of his words sunk in. You were much too distracted by the every-now-and-then touches. “Y/N?”

“What?”

“Do you even what a Pink Drink is?” Your brows furrowed and sensing you confusion, Peter smiled. “I was talking about Starbucks.”

“Oh, no, I don’t, at least I’m not sure. It’s not a decathlon question so,” Peter let out a laugh and you felt your skin go so warm it dulled the afternoon chill. 

“That’s a fair point,” he beamed, “oh, hold on. Let me get that.” He rushed past you and opened yet another for you. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit your nose but it did little to pull your thoughts from Peter’s acts of kindness.

“Th-Thanks,” you murmured and stepped inside only to be hit fully by the aroma of java. The coffee shop was quaint, painted in dark blues with oak detailing on tabletops that would make it look more like a custom movie set if it weren’t for the customers. 

A few scattered, circular tables with metal chairs held small succulent plants that, in this weather, had to be fake. Surrounding the tables were booths, one with a mother and her children who happily devoured cookies triple the size of their small hands. One of the children seemed transfixed on the hanging pendant lamps above the table that gave off a slightly yellowed glow. If it hadn’t been for the bell on the door jiggling behind you, you too would have joined in on the moth-like fascination.

“Hey, Y/N, do you want anything?” You turned around and saw Peter pulling his wallet from his pocket. Under the natural glow of the lights, Peter’s brown hair looked sandy and his features enticingly more soft. Even the golden amber fleck in his irises shown a little more delicately. “Y/N?”

“Um, no, I’m good. I’ll find a table.” You ducked your head to hide your burning cheeks. He had caught you staring at him and you knew that he knew it. As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, watching you as you did with him. 

You passed by the booth of bustling, unruly children and their haggard looking mother to a table tucked away in the corner. When you pulled the rather heavy metal chair out from the table top, the leg released a grunt of their own. The sound didn’t seem to entirely annoy the other patrons of the cafe so, with a calming heart rate, you unpacked your tutoring materials. Just as you pulled out your worn and worked trivia textbook, Peter came into view.

“I got you a cookie,” he said, setting down a plate with two gooey looking, homemade cookies. “The menu said ‘not-so-chocolate-chip’ so it might be vegan?” His face screwed up with thought as he took the seat across from you. With a shy smile at you, Peter set the mug in his other hand down too before it could slip through his sweater paws.

“Oh, you didn’t have to-” you cut yourself off, “thanks, Peter.” The shy smile turned sweet, sweet enough to rot your teeth if you didn’t look away. “So, do you want to focus on any area of questions in particular or….”

Peter took a swift sip of what looked like hot chocolate which, judging by his face, was much too hot to drink. “I uh, I looked at the site you recommended and went through like a bunch of literature questions so anything other than that would be cool.”

“Alright,” you cracked open your textbook to a random page. “Science good with you?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Peter said before he blew on the brew in his mug. It was childishly endearing and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread to your lips. 

“Who was the first woman to win a Nobel Prize 1903 and in what field?” You could see the gears in Peter’s mind working before he lifted his widened eyes to you in a slight panic.

“Marie Curie, physics,” he took a breath, “I don’t know why I blanked on that one.”

“It’s okay,” you grin, “even geniuses have their day.” You didn’t really mean for the words to come out so bitterly, but when you glanced at Peter’s face, you saw that it must have sounded rude. “Uh...What is the term for a product of a body's mass, including its linear velocity?”

“Momentum,” he said quickly, brown eyes scanning over your features. “Y/N are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied plainly as you flipped a page of the book, “which famous, billionaire philanthropist created-”

“Do you ...you don’t like me, do you?” His question gave you pause and silence when you saw true curiosity in his eyes. You swallowed hard and tried to suss out your tangled feelings in that very second; the same feelings that had been keeping you up at for the past three nights. There was no hope, so you continued on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Which famous, billionaire philanthropist funded the building of Jupiter’s most iconic landing vehicles?” Peter was quiet and when you looked up from the textbook, you realized it was a selective silence. “You know this one,” you pressed, “you work for him.”

“Tony Stark,” he murmured, so lowly it sent a shiver down your spine. “C-can you please tell me what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” You repeated, a lump forming in your throat. You could feel every emotion, every thought and doubt you had ever held inwards bubble up your throat en mass. Despite your fiery, biting tone, Peter still looked at you with those eyes with that effortless gaze that made your stomach twist.

“Yeah,” he replied and you wondered if he understood your anger. He must have; it was written all over your face. You yourself could feel the tips of your ears warmed, hands curled into fists so tight that the wounds from the Chicago trip ached with memory. 

“I-I…” A wave of coldness, not unlike the chills from the morning air washed over you. Drowned in thoughts you could no longer ignore, once foggy emotion filled your ears until you could hear nothing but your own truth and the beat of your heart. 

“Y/N,” only Peter’s voice broke through the haze and you hated it. “I told you on the bus home that you could talk to me.” his brown eyes, the ones you had hardened yourself against for years; the ones you had thought you hated for so long now studied you with a gentleness you had never felt or seen before. 

“What’s wrong is,” you took a breath and tore your eyes away from Peter’s. “When I look at you, I see everything I’ve ever wanted and it makes angry. Or made me angry, I’m not sure anymore but here I am, tutoring you like nothing is wrong.”

“I make,” you glanced at him wearily, “made, you angry?”

“Because...because I was scared.” The feeling, that intestine twisting, heart aching feeling put to words in a single breath. It felt too easy, too simple, but there it was. Out there for Peter to see.

“Scared...of me?” His brows furrowed and you squeezed your eyes shut in exasperation.

“No,” you shook your head and hands, “not you. Just of...what could have been if things were different.” The last word tasted salty, overcooked in the crock-pot of your brain or over seasoned by self hatred; it was too charred to tell. “Sorry, that was stupid I-”

“You mean what still could be,” Peter interrupted. You opened your mouth to speak but his tone, the kind that an authority might use to talk to some untamed youth, stole the words off your tongue. 

“I…” Peter gave you a half smile, barely there at all but you saw it nonetheless. 

“Mr. Stark has taught me a lot of things but one thing he taught me a little while ago was that...you are more than what’s under the mask.”

“Mask?” Peter’s eyes widened for a moment but he quickly collected himself. 

“It’s uh..it’s a metaphor. Anyway, sometimes that means you’re more than what you think you are or believe you are. If you think that you’re...you’re-”

“Unworthy, inadequate” you whispered, but Peter seemed to hear it because he paused. You lifted your gaze slightly, “for lack of a better word, I guess.”

“Okay, you think you’re inadequate with who you are now,” he continued, “but you are so much more. You just have to have someone, or something, to show you that you’re not. That like...all you want, it’s possible. You just have to look.”

While you were spilling your guts out to the person you had considered your opposition for years, the din of the coffee shop had disappeared. Now, in the resounding stillness of your conversation with Peter, you were shocked as you noticed no one seemed to hear anything of what you had said. It was a comfort alongside Peter’s advice, but it left you with one feeling you couldn’t share: gulit. Peter’s kindness made you sick in some other way now, the kind that riddled you with regret and Flash’s voice in your ear that whispered ‘sabotage’.

“That’s…” you started but had no clue how to finish, “that’s...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Peter consoled. You studied his expression, looked for some hint of suspicion in his dark honeyed eyes; some ulterior motive in the small smile on his pink lips. There had to be something, something you could use to comfort yourself, to tell yourself you weren’t wrong for plotting against him. There wasn’t. 

“Well, I ruined our tutoring session,” you mumbled softly but Peter shook his head. The motion sent his chestnut colored hair, normally styled in some fashion, to a more wild, natural-looking state of slight-curl. 

“No, you didn’t, I brought it up, I pushed it. He leaned back in his chair shyly, “and..m-maybe I can tutor you now?”

“Tutor me?”

“On..how to see yourself,” he elaborated. “I want to help you.”

“Careful,” you teased in the hopes of lightening the mood, “say that enough and you’ll end up being Spiderman.” 

“Oh! Haha, that’s uh ...that's funny. I wouldn’t though, superheroes right? They must be like crazy or something.” You couldn’t help the slight grin that spread along your lips as Peter melted into a puddle of jumbled words. How could he go from wonderful advice giver to stuttering mess within mere seconds? It might never make sense to you. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you pondered before a new thought, one that gave you a brief reprieve from the trouble swirling about your mind, came up. “Did you give him my note?”

“Spiderman? Oh, yeah, he-he got it. No worries. His reddened cheeks and goofy smile lightened your mood as your minor worry was put to ease. Peter sipped at his, what was now most likely, lukewarm hot chocolate and you looked back to your book. In your lap rested your hands where they restlessly played with each other’s fingers in the tense silence.

“So...how are you going to tutor me? Are you going to be my life coach?” Peter like out a breathy laugh and he made a strange face. 

“Well, uh no, not a coach. I mean...we could….you need to know there’s more to you so we can try a bunch of different things.” You raised an apprehensive brow and Peter frowned.

“Like we’re trying to find a secret talent?” 

“No, not like that but...sort of, I guess?” He scratched the back of his neck and hummed in thought, a habit he must have learned from someone. “We’re going to look for opportunities rather than wait for them, if-if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, I think it does.” You smiled and Peter mirrored the expression with all the more sweetness; to the point it made you heart skip a beat. Now all you had to do was look for the opportunity to tell Flash you could no longer go through with the plan.

“Oh crap.”

“What is it?”

“It’s getting late and if I’m late to dinner again, Aunt May might actually turn into the Hulk.” You glanced out the window and saw the darkened sky. The gross grey color pulled a frown to you lips as you turned back and met Peter’s gaze.

“I guess it is late,” you agreed softly, “I hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s alright,” Peter stood from his chair and began to collect his things. “I’m sure your parents are worried about you too. We can study more tomorrow.” 

You let out a scoff and shook your head. “I don’t think anyone is home to care.”

Peter cocked his head at your words and you realized how grim you had sounded. However, it was a sad truth if the nights prior were anything to go by. Before you could cover up, spill some white lie to sedate the concern on Peter’s face, he beat you to the punch.

“Do you wanna eat dinner with me?” The question sounded innocent and knowing Peter, it mostly likely was, yet it rendered you speechless anyway. “Well, I mean, my Aunt and I. You’re probably like super busy studying but I just thought that maybe-”

“I would like that.” Your reply seemed to catch Peter off guard. His book bag hung loosely in his grip as he looked at you with slightly widened eyes. For a split second you thought that maybe, like you had with his original suggestion of dinner, he was reading into your words. 

“Ok, cool,” a steady smile, the one you had grown to know too well spread across his face.

“It could be the first tutoring session for me,” you said, hoping to cut through the air that had gathered thickly around the two of you. You packed up your books, shoved them deep in your bag and stood on somewhat shaky legs. You had been sitting with Peter for hours. 

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” Peter gushed as he picked up the plate of long ago eaten cookies, “May will not let you leave the house until you’re full of compliments.”

“Not food?” You asked, a small giggle in your voice that seemed to deepen Peter’s smile.

“I mean, she’s an adventurous cook but sometimes,” you followed Peter as he dropped off the plate in the dish bin on the cafe’s main counter, “it doesn’t turn out.”

“It isn’t good?” You asked as you both made your way towards the door. Peter smiled again, a bit more nervously this time. 

“Sometimes it isn’t edible.” You laughed and stepped out into the chilled evening air of New York. “Queen is a train ride away. Fourth stop on the main loop.” He gestured towards the train way entrance where a large map was displayed out front. “Are you sure you don’t need to be home?”

“I’m sure,” you answered confidently, the first time you had done so since you had talked to Peter regularly. With a pleased smile, Peter started towards the train way awning with a little jump in his step that made you wonder why you had let your own jealousy tarnish him in the first place. 

You followed him, through the ticket booths and machines, up the steps to the train platform. As Peter slipped his train pass back in a worn leather wallet, you eyed the other future passengers lingering on the awning. Tired looking men and women in business wear sat on rickety benches, immersed themselves in their phones while they waited. A tourist family was nose deep in a map as they bickered about location. 

“You ride the train everyday?” You turned your eyes to Peter to find him already looking at you. His brown eyes held your gaze before he nodded and pulled them away.

“To school and sometimes back.” You stepped closer to him with a quirked brow.

“Sometimes? What do you do on the other times?” Peter’s mouth fell open and promptly shut.

“I uh...walk...around the city, swing around,” he hesitates for a moment you cock your head. “It’s a good way to clear your head you know.”

“I wouldn’t,” you replied, arms crossed over your chest. “I go from home to school and back again. My own bubble, I guess.” You bit the inside of your cheek and wished you had stayed quiet. Sharing, especially with Peter, was still new to you.

“Really? Well then, there we go,” Peter grinned enthusiastically, “we can start tutoring you there. If you’re inside all the time just studying you’re not going to try things. It might help.”

“It’s-

“Train arriving in two minutes,” an automated voice interrupted. The headlights of the oncoming train grew larger and larger and your words filtered out from your mind. Glimmers of memories, studying and the urge to be better than Peter Parker had clouded your mind. That was how you had lived for three years. 

What would a past you have thought of you now, all buddy-buddy with your sworn enemy? Would she be confused or relieved that you weren’t so ...isolated? You imagined she would be, at least, hopeful. You were hopeful in the moment as you stepped through the open doors of the train car and sat next to Peter Parker.

Your legs knocked against his as he chatted with you about other ways he could get you to see other, better parts of yourself that you were too blinded to. Part of you still didn’t fully believe his speech, his belief in you. No one had believed in you like Peter before. 

“There’s like volunteer dog park where we can go and-”

“You’re really thinking about this,” you observed wryly. Your tone must have pressed something in Peter’s mind and he gave you a concerned look. 

“If you don’t, don’t wanna do this it’s okay, I’m just throwing things out there.”

“No, no,” you arched your body to face him, “I just...you’re eager. It’s surprising.” The racing of the train car against the tracks filled your ears and you wondered if Peter had heard you. His quiet wasn’t eery, but rather reflective.

“I mean, well, I enjoy spending time with you and you’re pretty cool,” he said, his voice barely audible over the clacking wheels. You responded with a half-hearted attempt at a smile before you averted your gaze towards the window. It all started to feel like too much, with everything, with Peter. Being honest with yourself had been a big step, a leap when you were truth with Peter.

Now it felt like you were floating on a cloud of your own nervous energy all the way from the train stop to the front door of the Parker’s apartment. The building on the outside looked like yours only in better shape that the complex you called home. The interior however, soothed you. Cream colored hallways gave off more comfort than the stoney, mottled grey you associated with your family’s apartment.

The old you would have hated such a comparison, even despised Peter for having a more home-like home. Now, the thought made you ache as he fiddled with the lock to open the door. It became more clear to you that Peter was not the issue; your own mindset was.  

“Now, when I left she said she was making dinner so,” Peter gave you a weary look as he twisted the door knob. “Just...be prepared for-”

A loud beeping, high pitched and ear piercing cut through Peter’s warning. In the most confident you had seen him, Peter threw open the door and rushed inside. Shocked for a moment by his instinct, you followed behind and was greeted by a sight that was downright cartoonish.

A small woman with tanned skin and dark brown hair, Peter’s Aunt May, stood before a smoking oven with a sheet pan in her hands. She waved the pan wildly and seemed to be directing the smoke out of a tiny window in the cramped kitchen. 

“I burnt the ham!” She shouted when Peter dove into the kitchen to grab an old newspaper. You rushed in after him and joined in on the maniac waving; the wild nature of which was only stirred up by the fire alarm’s screeching. “Who is this!?”

“Aunt May, Y/N. Y/N, this is Aunt May,” Peter’s introduction was poor under the loud noise but enough for the woman to stop waving the sheet pan to reach for you hand.

“Please, call me May,” she smiled, “Peter’s talked about you and his friends before. You’re close with the strange Michelle girl right?”

“May!” Peter was still waving and, with wide eyes, May continued to do so as well.

“Yeah, I am,” you yelled over the sound of flapping and beeping, “it’s nice to meet you!”

“And you too!” May shouted just as the fire alarm shut off. “Oof! That was loud!”

“Yeah, it was,” Peter said, a grin on his face as his Aunt’s voice was still at a higher volume. Even for the short period of time you had heard it, the alarm was still ringing in your ears.

“So….” May glanced between Peter and yourself, her cheek pinked from the waving. “Does take out sound okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter cheered and looked to you, “Italian, Thai, or Chinese?” 

“Italian,” you replied and felt your stomach gurgle in anticipation for food. 

“Oh, I like her,” May cooed as she picked up the phone, “we’re on the same frequency. Marko’s is the best spot in town. What do you like?”

After Aunt May had placed the order and a grand tour of the Parker’s ‘estate’ as she called it, you felt instantly at peace in their home. A year ago, you wouldn’t have dared to venture into Peter’s house but now you ogled at his room, decorated in all sorts of nerdy paraphernalia

“So you’re a Star Wars fan,” you mused aloud as you took in the sight of all of actions figures Peter had amassed that looked like they too were from the seventies. 

“Oh, y-yeah, they’re like really good movies,” Peter said as he darted to your side. You could feel his gaze on you as you studied the merchandise closely. Strange aliens faces and one furry, long legged creatures you believed was Chewbacca.

“I’ve never seen them,” you admitted, “my family doesn’t have movie nights or anything like that so they slipped under the radar.” A gasp at your side pulled your gaze to Peter. His mouth was agape, brown eyes as wide as saucers. 

“You haven’t seen the Star Wars movies?!”

“No….” you pursed your lips and gave Peter an incredulous look, “are they really that good?”

“Are they really that good! Ha!” He shook his head in disbelief and you couldn’t help but smile at his passion. “They’re better than good! We have to watch them sometime!”

You liked the way he said ‘we’ and how when the word leaped from the tip of his tongue, his eyes fell on your with all the softness you had ever seen in the world encapsulated.  You opened your mouth to speak, to give voice to how you hated that you hadn’t talked, truly talked to him sooner. Before you could however, May’s voice cut through your haze.

“Foods here!”

“Thank for this, May,” you said as you slipped a plate beside the sink. May was tucking rinsed utensils into the dishwasher, humming softly to herself as she did.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she huffed, “a friend of Peter’s is always welcome here. Especially after all you’re been through, sweetie.”

“Aunt May,” Peter grumbled through slightly gritted teeth. You raised a hand at him and gave the woman a tender smile. 

“Have you talked to someone about it? What happened in Chicago? I know a good therapist if you want to give that a try.” You shook your head and gave May a grateful glance.

“No, but I think I’m okay. I have Spiderman to thank for that,” you shot Peter a knowing smile, pleased that your note had made into the masked hero’s hands. Yet something about Peter’s expression was off. Slightly widened eyes that darted from you to his aunt, who also seemed a bit shaken, and his cheeks were red as if you had embarrassed him.

“Oh those heroes, they’re lifesavers, literally!” Aunt May laughed, loudly enough that you were pulled away from your wonderings. 

You helped Aunt May load the rest of the dishes while Peter cleaned up the table. For the first time in a long time, you felt as if you were part of a family. A sense of belonging that had evaded you for a long time finally welcomed you with open arms. So when May wiped her hands on a towel and glanced and the clock in the kitchen, you heart sank into a pool of dread.

“Wow, time flies huh? It’s pretty late.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I guess I should be heading out.” As you turned around, you missed the sorry smile Aunt May wore as she watched you grab your things. 

“Thank you again, for dinner and having me,” you called as you stood idly by the door. Peter gave you a bright grin, one that twisted your stomach into knots.

“Anytime, Y/N,” May said as she entered the doorway the kitchen table. Her joyful glow was only amplified by the apartment’s soft yellow coloring, the same shade that reminded you of springtime and how much you did not want to go. “Peter, why don’t you walk Y/N home? Make sure she gets there all right.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course!” Peter said and he leaned over, the smell of his cologne overwhelming your senses as she opened the door. “You ready?”

You met his brown eyes and, without hesitation, nodded. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

It was like deja vu, walking with Peter back to the train, sitting beside him so your legs brushed as you talked. He rattled on about Star Wars and you fired questions about the sci-fi society George Lucas had built.

“So it’s a Republic?”

“Well it was until Darth Vader helped The Emperor take over.” You gave him a puzzled look.

“The Emperor’s name is Emperor? So it’s Emperor Emperor?” Peter laughed, leaned his head back against the seat and shook his head. He turned, hair a mess from his position with cheery eyes.

“No, he has a name,” you gestured for him to tell you, “you have to watch it yourself.” You groaned and leaned back. The train jostled against the tracks and you could feel it through your entire body as you head rested against the wall. You turned, the same way Peter had, to look him in the eyes.

“How? I don’t have a DVD player and the TV is broken at my place.” Peter held your gaze and curled his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. You watched him and bit the inside of your cheek when you realized you were both just staring at each other.

“I have a digital copy of all of the movies so at the next tutoring session I can give them to you,” he suggested. “Or...you...you could come back over sometime? May likes you and I-I-”

Peter cut himself off and you felt your skin warm under his gaze. Brown eyes held your sole attention so strongly that you barely noticed the train come to a stop. 

“I would like that,” you replied in a soft voice. Peter smiled and lifted his head. 

“Oh crap, it’s your stop! Let’s go,” you both rushed up and towards the train doors as an automated voice prepared a countdown. The night air, even colder than the morning, greeted you and Peter with a vengeance. You hugged your sweatshirt close to your body and saw Peter do the same with his jacket. 

An easy silence fell over the two of you as you walked down the street. You dreaded the moment your apartment complex would come into your line of sight so you kept your eyes on the sidewalk. You shoes seemed small compared to Peter’s, although his red converse were scuffed up the sides. The shoes didn’t go with how you saw Peter: all pristine and put together to spite your own jealousy as you felt you could never live up to the standard he set.

Now, you felt your understood the rough and torn shoes, why Peter wore them. There was so much more to him than the boy you thought you knew. You felt comfortable with him, to your our surprise, enough so that you told him how you once hated him. He subverted every expectation when he didn’t shy away at that and instead, stayed. No one had stayed before. 

“Hey isn’t this your place?” Peter’s voice pulled your eyes to him then to the apartment complex on your left. It was, but you could see darkness in what was your family’s apartment window. No one was home, again. 

“Yeah it is,” you sighed.

“It looks, dark, just always dark.” Peter observed and you realized he was used to be greeted when he went home. When he would leave you tonight, Aunt May would be there for him.

“Ha, yeah, my family is out so that doesn’t help it.”

“Like, out of town?” Peter questioned and you saw the concern laced in his brow.

“Yup, but they’ll be back. They’re just working,” it was a lie. You didn’t know when they’d be back. “The quiet is the perfect studying environment though.” Peter laughed at that and shook his head.

“You and your studying,” he mused and you raised a brow in his direction.

“I could say the same for you and your Stark Internship,” you fired back, “last semester you missed so many practices because you had to go and help.” You felt lingering jealousy bubble up your throat but you pushed it down. There was no space for that anymore. “It must be amazing, but I guess that’s what you do.”

“Well, I mean,” Peter started to fumbled and rocked back on his heels, “you’re pretty amazing too, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short.” You felt your whole body warm and, to hide the sense of pride his words gave you, you spoke up once more.

“Isn’t that what you’re going to help with?” Peter met your gaze and it seemed like all nervous energy tapered out of his body. His shoulders relaxed and a soft smile graced his face. 

“Yeah, it is.” The almost cozy, relaxed silence fell over you and Peter once more. A passing car broke the momentary revelry and you stepped back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you called, happy that you could smile as you said it.

“See you!” Peter shouted back as you crossed the street.

Part of you was tempted to turn around, check to see if Peter was still watching to make sure you got inside okay. You fought hard as you ascended the front steps but ultimately lost the battle. Once in the doorway, you turned to glance across the street. Peter was nowhere in sight.

He must walk fast, you surmised and started to unlock the door. Despite the slight disappointment, you were still smiling. You had a feeling that, even with the empty home that awaited you, you would fall asleep with that same smile; and, it turned out, you were right.

[hdgaywriting]

Eighth Year - Drarry Fic

Part One:

           Harry woke up to the smell of bacon and the soft coos of Pigwidgeon. It had been months now that he could wake up relaxed, easing into the routine of the Weasleys. After all he'd been through, the consistency felt nice. He stretched his arms and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before putting on his glasses and blinking the world into a sharp image. Glancing around the room, he noticed that Ron was already awake, given his bed was an empty lump of sheets. This was the first time all summer that Ron had gotten up before Harry, and he suspected it was due to the occasion – their return to Hogwarts.

Harry and his best friends had honestly not been anticipating living through the war, but eventually they stopped being able to dodge the question of what comes next. Harry had immediately been offered a job as an auror following Voldemort's downfall, and Ron thought he was going to land some job at the Ministry. It was Hermione that proposed the trio go back to schooling.

"If you think about it, we've only completed six years," she'd said. The two boys, her boys, were still in a post-war stupor then, not willing to dwell on their days at Hogwarts quite yet.

"Hermione," Ron said, through a mouthful of lunch, "we're 18 now. We're too old for Hogwarts. Besides, what can they teach us that we don't already know?"

"Lots of things, Ronald," Hermione said with a stubborn edge in her voice. "After all the insanity that happened, we deserve a chance to be normal students." She looked at Harry for defense, but he was too stunned with the flood of emotion to say anything, so she continued. "Refinement. New spells. New potions. You're never too old to learn. Besides, after Voldemort's downfall, they're bound to teach students differently. The whole curriculum will be different and I don't want to miss out!"

Harry's breath hitched imperceptibly when Hermione said Voldemort's name. Not because he was scared – he hadn't been scared of saying Voldemort's name in years – but because Hermione said it so boldly. In a way, it was comforting. It served as another reminder that he really was gone.

When he looked up, he caught Hermione's gaze. She had a sparkle in her eye talking about Hogwarts and the idea of going back. He mulled over the thought of an eighth year, and after a bit of a back and forth with Ron, they eventually had decided to enroll at Hogwarts one last time.

He walked into the bright kitchen as he did every morning. Ginny walked over to Harry and pecked him on the cheek. "Morning sweetheart," she sang. Ginny was offended when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had asked her if she'd be returning. She practically yelled that obviously she was, then insisted the conversation end there. That was something that always impressed Harry about his fiery girlfriend – her unabashed way of standing up for herself. It was a skill she grew into over the past few years, and it made Harry's heart skip a beat every time she'd stride over to him and grab him boldly by the shoulders to plant a kiss on his mouth.

Ron was sitting on the counter, leaning his chin onto Hermione's head, who was standing between his legs. His hands carelessly rested at her hip. When Hermione lifted her gaze from the morning's issue of The Daily Prophet, she gave Harry a soft smile.

"Oy, Harry!" Ron exclaimed with a bit of devilish excitement. "We made the paper!"

Harry looked surprise, and grabbed it from Hermione's hands.

"Hey!" she quipped.

"Sorry," Harry muttered as he thumbed through the black and white pages and moving pictures. He came across the article Ron was talking about. Golden Trio Start Final Term at Hogwarts – Again! the paper read. Harry rolled his eyes. He shoved the paper back at Hermione and sat down, not wanting to read what it said. He had hoped that defeating Voldemort would be the end to his fame. He thought he'd be able to settle down with Ginny and live a nice life in peace.

"The Golden Trio," Harry said, "I mean, c'mon." The nickname referred to him, Hermione, and Ron, and was becoming a popular phrase around Britain.

"At least they're finally getting recognition," he heard Ginny lament. And he knew she was right. For so long it had been Harry vs. the world, so some solidarity felt nice.

"It's just cheesy," he said as he chomped on a piece of bacon.

Harry watched different Weasleys float in and out of the kitchen as the morning progressed. He was definitely going to miss it here. The Weasleys were the family he never had but always wanted. The way they absorbed and protected people like him and Hermione was what made them some of his favorite people. All summer he'd gotten to know the eldest Weasley children, too. Bill, and his wife Fleur decided to travel around the world for a while after the Battle of Hogwarts, and in-between each trip they'd spend a couple weeks with their family. Charlie moved back home for a while too, before agreeing (or being bullied into) getting a flat with Percy. But Percy had proved to be so insufferable, that Charlie visited enough to make it seem as if he'd never left. He'd come in, flopping onto the couch and complaining about "our tight-ass prat of a brother, lecturing me about chores and informing me about the inner-workings of the Ministry."

It was hard for Charlie to walk back into life at the Weasleys because he'd been in Romania so long. Charlie was an independent. He refused to be reined in. He wore all black all the time, painted his nails, and sometimes sported a dangly earring. He'd even had a secret tattoo on his back of a dragon breathing fire. It was charmed so that the dragon flew around between his shoulder blades.

But besides the commentary on his style choices, Charlie struggled with Percy's betrayal and Fred's death. They all did, of course, but besides George and Mrs. Weasley, Charlie seemed to have the most grief. He wished he had never gone to Romania, he confessed to Harry one night when he was wine drunk. Harry told him he didn't mean it, but Charlie insisted and tears welled in his eyes. That was the first time Harry had ever thought any boy was pretty. The way the grief bubbled up into his face like a delicate thing Charlie wasn't used to after having spent so long with gritty dragons stood out.

It was with Charlie that Harry opened up to about his nerves returning to Hogwarts. About how sad it made him, in a way. It wasn't the Hogwarts he fell in love with at age 11. This was a post-war Hogwarts, where Dumbledore and Snape and Lupin and Fred would never step foot in again. It's where he faced Voldemort for the last time, and where so many people had died. He wanted so desperately to relive the magic of boating across the lake and McGonagall smiling at him when he'd been sorted Gryffindor. He wanted the stupid late-night adventures with Ron and Hermione. He wanted the Hogwarts that didn't put him in peril.

McGonagall was now the headmaster, and it was she who permitted the Golden Trio to return for a final year. She said it was her duty as an educator to allow them the full extent of a Hogwarts Education, but Harry suspected she'd had a soft spot for them. When Hermione sent her an owl, she'd told McGonagall that the three of them needed accommodations of sorts, since they would not be the typical students. McGonagall's reply came the next day. She was in agreement that matriculation would be different, and that they could expect any resources for maintaining optimal mental health, first pick of class schedule, access to a special dormitory that was being built for eighth year students, and the promise to negotiate any other contingencies. She also offered them enrollment in a new class taught by an incoming professor for those with advanced skill in combative magic and magical defense. She included that what they should NOT expect was leniency in grading, pity, special privileges, or any other pish posh of the sort.

Ron and Harry were immediately thrilled, but Hermione pouted.

"I'm writing back," she had said.

"Why?" Harry questioned as she furiously scribbled with a fresh quill.

"Because I want to be re-instated as Head Girl," Hermione said, "and I want access to the restricted section of the library."

Ron laughed warmly from his chest. "Tell her, love." In the end, Hermione (mostly) got her way. McGonagall said that she could co-Head Girl, but giving her the sole title would be unfair to the incoming student. Additionally, the restricted section of the library would soon be rid of all dangerous dark magic books and then open to all students with approval from the librarian.

It seemed so soon after Harry's discovery of the headline of the news that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came bustling into the room saying that it was time for them to get going to King's Cross. The lot of them set off in just as much of a messy haste as ever.

Walking into King's Cross was surreal. Arthur and Molly were the first to press through the brick wall to get to Platform 9 and three quarters. Following them was Charlie, followed closely by Percy, then Ron and Hermione. Harry stood with Ginny's hand wrapped in his. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against her fingers.

"Ready for the Hogwarts Express?" Ginny said, eyes twinkling. Harry raised her hand to his lips and kissed it before saying of course. Ginny rushed through with zero fear. She disappeared in a flash of red hair.

After Harry dipped through he found the platform to be more familiar than he thought it would be. The dozens of families wrapping their kids in their arms made him smile almost as much as the youngins waving with their heads poking out through the windows. In a way he felt too old to be going back to school, but in a different, more prominent way, he felt the excitement and potential of Hogwarts filling him.

The train was smooth as it started speeding down the tracks. Ginny was waving goodbye to her brothers and parents, and Ron and Hermione were talking in quiet voices. Harry didn't want to interrupt, so he decided after a while to go explore the cabins and search for some familiar faces. Now that he thought about it, he realized all summer he'd just assumed he and his best friends were the only eighth years returning to Hogwarts, but he didn't actually know.

Before long he had traipsed up and down several cabins, seeing nobody from his original class. He was about to give up when a long shimmer of blonde, wavy hair caught his attention. He rushed up to the girl and plopped down in front of her.

"Oh, hello, Harry," Luna said in a sweet voice. "How are you?" She spoke softly just as she always had, like nothing changed.

"I'm fine, Luna, and you?" He paused for a moment before continuing. "It is so good to see you. Hermione and Ron are here as well."

She smiled widely. "That's lovely!" she said. "Are you lot staying in the new dormitory? It's a small one near where the bridge used to be. You know, the one Seamus blew up?" her wide eyes bore into him. Harry had a painful jolt when she talked about the destruction from the Battle of Hogwarts, but nodded and smiled through it.

"Oy, is Neville here?" he said.

"No," Luna said nonchalantly. "He's been given a job at a magical plant greenhouse. He really loves it. He brings my dad and me organic dirigible fruit and all sorts of magical plants to snack on. He says the mulch helps his head stay clear." The way Luna talked was as if she was reporting information. Which made sense, Harry thought, consider her dad was a journalist with his own magazine. "Harry," Luna said, snapping him out of his thoughts, "remember to sweep for nargles. They've really been prominent this year." She flipped her pink and blue glasses down from her forehead and gave him another wide smile.

"Sure thing, Luna" Harry said as he stood up. "We'll get lunch sometime." His mind was still with Luna when he ran into the last person he wanted to see.

Draco Malfoy was staring Harry down.